Argovia
by nicitta
Summary: AU. When Prince Castiel is abducted by an enemy long believed to be defeated, the King calls upon two skilled hunters to help get him back. Never would the two brothers have expected how much the following journey would affect their lives. Medieval adventure fic. Eventual Destiel.
1. PART I: Chapter 1

_**A/N: **So I don't really know where this came from... I got the idea from a similar original that I wrote at sixteen, but I think mostly I just love AUs so I decided to write one myself haha!_

_It seems my beta is a bit busy at the moment, so this hasn't been looked over yet, sorry for any errors. :)_

_Hope you guys like it!_

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**PART I**

**Chapter 1**

If there was one thing Prince Castiel was absolutely certain of, it was of his hatred of diplomatic expeditions.

He understood why they were necessary, why every few moons the King's presence had to be confirmed in even the remotest corners of the empire. He knew why his brother kept sending him on these faraway missions, because as the youngest of the four princes he was able to ensure a much greater control over the regions than any mere representative.

Perhaps he was also usually sent to these remote places _because_ he was the youngest, which meant he wasn't fit for the most important missions and would be safer out here. None of his brothers admitted it to him, but he knew it was true. Few enemies ever ventured as far as the realms of all the little towns he was currently travelling through. Maybe a few stray raiders or creatures would make their way out of the forests, but never more than that.

Castiel had to admit that he found himself to be rather irritated at his brother for his protective attitude. He was a trained soldier after all and had seen battle many times. He had fought in the last Great War their world had seen at the age of only twenty years and had stood his own bravely. He would gladly have protested against all these harmless assignments, but alas his oldest brother was the King and was to be obeyed at all times.

Thankfully he would soon be at the end of his journey and be able to travel back home, where he would hopefully be sent to achieve a much grander duty.

He currently found himself in one of the larger towns of this region, though he had already forgotten the name of it again. The place was obviously not used to visitors of such importance, for as the small group of soldiers rode in on their horses there were several citizens staring at them, quite a few of them children. Castiel didn't mind the latter, there had always been something about the pure innocence of children that had appealed to his affectionate nature.

The town's mayor was a nervous and skittish little man, his chest heaving rapidly above his round belly and his face turning from the embarrassment of red toward a slightly greenish color as he awaited them anxiously on the large square before the city hall. The young prince saw him from afar and instantly wondered how utterly long a meeting with this man was going to take.

He had never had been good at communicating with people. Perhaps that was also a reason why his brother liked to use him for diplomatic trips, because he knew that Castiel's harsh and unsociable attitude could serve as a further accelerant of fear toward his subjects.

He exchanged a quick glance with his closest guard, Inias and the two men nodded to each other wordlessly. They had gone through this routine many times by now.

"M-my Lord," the mayor stuttered as Castiel rode up to him, wondering to himself how the man could still breathe beneath all his spluttering. "How good of you to come."

Castiel stopped his horse next to the man and instantly received a profound bow as a greeting. "It… it is such an honor," the mayor continued babbling.

"The pleasure's all mine," Castiel responded curtly, not really paying attention to the other man's anxiety.

"Please, Sire…" he started. "Join me inside, then we can"-

The rest of his sentence was forgotten the very moment a bloodcurdling scream sounded through the town and over to them from a terrifyingly close distance.

Castiel's head immediately snapped over to its place of origin along with all of his soldiers. The young prince who had just been preparing to get off his horse, now swiftly brought his hand to his side to extract his silver blade as he heard the unmistakable clanking sounds of sword fighting drawing nearer.

The members of his guard barely had time to draw back their horses and spread out across the square when Castiel could already see the hostiles coming in from the streets.

Apparently the insignificant town was being attacked by a large group of soldiers and it was appearing to be quite an easy target. There was no resistance to the enemies on the streets; the countless citizens were running desperately for their lives, mothers were screaming for their children and there was no one to stop the soldiers from bursting through quickly to the center of town, some of them on horseback, others following on foot. The two guards that were stationed in front of the city hall bravely stepped out onto the courtyard to face the hostiles, while the panicking mayor ran past them and fled into the building. Other than that there were no trained defense mechanisms, it was obvious that the town was not prepared for an attack of this sort.

An arrow fired from an enemy on horseback barely missed Castiel and instead hit one of his soldiers behind him, knocking the mortally wounded man off his horse. The prince angrily drove his horse forward and lifted his sword to stab his adversary in the chest before the man even had time to lower his bow.

Looking around at the battle that was now ensuing between the few of his soldiers and the large group of foes, Castiel noticed the dark uniforms the other soldiers were wearing. He had not seen those uniforms in almost a century. These were not the King's soldiers, nor were they from any other place within the empire. No, these were soldiers from the King's archenemy, the one that had been defeated some time ago. Or so they thought.

Castiel was just about to drive his horse forward once more when he felt the animal staggering beneath him, it too having been pierced by a rogue arrow. After a few moments of swaying back and forth, the horse buckled and collapsed onto the hard ground, sending the young prince rolling across the square, only a miracle ensuring that he was not trampled to death by any other of the creatures. Without giving himself time to recover from the fall, Castiel quickly jumped to his feet and though his vision was still a bit blurry immediately set out to attack one of the adversaries on foot. After a brief and on his side rather graceful duel the enemy fell to his feet, blood pouring from a deadly wound on his neck.

They had no chance, Castiel realized fairly quickly, for they were largely outnumbered and not at all prepared for serious battle on what had been intended to be a peaceful journey of negotiations. His soldiers were falling right, left and center until pretty soon he was the only one left fighting on the square, lashing out furiously at all the foes surrounding him, stubbornly refusing to give in.

He had just swung out his sword violently, slicing a rather ugly wound across one of his adversary's abdomen when he was roughly pushed from the side and crashed down onto the cobbled ground with his backside. Several sword points were immediately aimed at his chest, holding him at bay so he couldn't possibly strike out again without the definite consequence of getting himself killed.

"Don't move, you filth!" one of the men hissed, pressing his dangerously sharp sword slightly into the fabric of the prince's clothes.

Realizing that he had lost, Castiel didn't dare to put his sword to use again but instead glared viciously at every single one of the hostiles surrounding him. None of them seemed impressed by it.

He gave a wordless growl of protest when he felt his sword being pulled out of his grip from behind. The soldier who had taken it soon let out a gasp of recognition.

"Oy, look what we have here!" he called out. "We got ourselves an angel blade. Silver make and everything!"

A murmur filled equally with disdain and glee ran through the group of men holding Castiel at sword point. Some of them looked around at the bodies scattered across the square. "Angel scum!" one of the men scoffed and spat at one of Castiel's fallen comrades.

Before even realizing what he was doing, the prince pushed himself off the ground and moved to direct his hatred over the disrespect at the offending enemy. He didn't get much further than to a kneeling position though, for the reaction among his captors was prompt, several of their swords shifting to press against his exposed throat.

"If you don't want us to bleed you right here like your little friends, I suggest you don't move another inch!" the same man from before threatened him. Castiel did his best to shoot him his most murderous glare in defiance.

Suddenly a rumble of unease went through the group of soldiers and several of them moved aside to reveal a tall and strongly built man with a fierce expression on his face. His whole posture spoke of authority. It was clear that he was a superior to all of the surrounding men.

"What's all this?" he demanded, looking from the kneeling prince on the ground to the soldiers.

"General," the soldier who still held Castiel's sword in his hands spoke up. "We have captured an angel, Sir. He had this blade on him."

The general took the sword that his soldier handed him, but spared it only a brief glance, instead looking to the side at Castiel's slain men. "Yes, angels," he remarked. "I noticed from their uniforms. I've seen them before."

He then turned his attention back to the sight before him, studying the kneeling and defenseless man with apparently great interest. "But you're not just an average angel, are you?"

Castiel looked up at the tall man with all the disdain he could muster, when inside he was slowly starting to panic as the full weight of his situation sunk in. He couldn't see any possible way to escape this.

Meanwhile the general had taken a few steps toward him and was eying him carefully. He seemed to have a particular interest for his uniform. "He bears the king's sigil, boys." Castiel shivered inwardly at the victorious grin that spread over his enemy's face. "Which means…" the man slowly walked around the kneeling prince and came to a stop behind him. "He's royalty. Most likely related to the king, aren't you?"

Castiel ground his teeth together and did his best to hide any signs of distress from his face as the hostile soldiers around him jeered approvingly. He wondered and cursed himself over the fact that only a short while ago he had disapproved of this mission being dull. What wouldn't he do now to have the dullness back.

His heart hammered rapidly in his chest and he tried to force himself to breathe evenly, but there was no way he could control the sudden outbreak of fear. As alone and helpless as he was, there were only two possible ways the situation would end for him, he would either be killed or kept alive for worse. If they managed to figure out exactly whom they had before them, the second option was far more likely.

The general walked around to his front side again and crouched down before him, giving him a cruel smile. "What's your name, son?" he asked.

Castiel merely showed him a defiant glare, but said nothing whatsoever. The soldiers around him were laughing now, as if they didn't think he would be able to hold up that attitude for long.

"I said," the general repeated, his voice sounding slightly more menacing even if his face seemed thoroughly relaxed, as he placed Castiel's own blade against his throat. "What's your name?"

"Go to hell," Castiel spat in response, making it clear that he would rather die than give up his identity. His brothers would kill him if he let himself be used against them.

"All right," the man shrugged. For a moment Castiel thought that this was it, that he was about to die, but then the general rose to his feet and waved to someone out of his line of sight. He could see some of the soldiers laughing gleefully and it made his fear even more unbearable.

The sound of a body being dragged across the pavement registered in his ears and then a moment later his blood froze in his veins as he gazed upon the figure that was dropped to the ground a few feet away from him.

"Inias," he whispered anxiously, taking note of the heavily breathing man that gazed at him through wide-open, fearful eyes.

"Good, so you let us know his name," the general nodded approvingly, stepping over to where Castiel's wounded guard had collapsed on the ground. "Tell me yours and I won't kill him."

Immediately following his words, one of the man's soldiers pulled up Inias' head by his hair and pressed a dagger to his throat.

"No!" Castiel protested desperately. "Release him, he is not part of this!"

"Gladly, if you tell me your name," the general smirked.

Castiel hesitated, his helpless gaze meeting Inias who was doing his best to shake his head adamantly, despite the dagger. His eyes pleaded for him not to do it, but Castiel couldn't oblige. He couldn't condemn his companion, his _friend_ to death simply for his own benefit.

"You give me your word, you'll release him?" Castiel asked weakly, all form of control lost from his voice, as he feared for his guard's life.

The general shrugged. "Sure," he said. "But not until you hold up your end."

"No"- Inias choked out pleadingly.

The prince gazed at him sadly, before taking a deep breath.

"Castiel," he said loud and clear.

A murmur of excitement instantly passed through the group of soldiers, while the general's face lit up in a gleeful smirk. Inias looked like he was on the verge of utter despair.

"Well, well, Castiel, is it?" the man sneered, stepping closer toward the kneeling prince once again. "The youngest of the empire's princes in the flesh! Gotta say, it's quite an honor."

Castiel felt his inwards contract painfully as the soldiers laughed at their leader's words, for he had just lost his last hope for any sort of dignified ending to this situation. Knowing his position in the kingdom and his closeness to the King, he had no doubt that he would be used for the most gruesome of purposes. At least he had managed to spare Inias.

"Well, I'd say this was quite a catch, boys!" the general stated, instantly receiving loud cheers from his soldiers. After the celebrating outbursts had quieted down again, he turned toward the man still holding Inias at bay. "All right, kill him."

Castiel barely had time to scream his friend's name before the dagger was set in motion, slicing cleanly through the man's throat and releasing a gush of blood onto the pavement. All sound seemed to drown out around him and all he could see were the lifeless brown eyes and the pale white face and the blood, so much blood… He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the images that were now forever burned into his memory.

"No- you… you"- he choked, seeing his enemy's evil smirk before him, enormous floods of hatred suddenly making out all of his being. He had never known that a human being could feel so much _hate_.

He braced himself on his hands and knees, trying hard not to keel over with all the disorientation. What sounds had been muted at first were now suddenly magnified and threatened to drown him in an endless sea of screams, laughter and swords cutting through flesh.

When he had finally composed himself enough to open his eyes again, he instantly flinched back at seeing the general's amused face right before him, crouched down on the ground again.

"Don't feel too bad," he said quietly, that same evil smirk sitting calmly on his face. Only now that he was so close did Castiel suddenly notice the eerie yellow glint in his eyes.

"Death was a great mercy on your friend compared to everything that awaits you."

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_**A/N: **So that was it, what do you think? It was mostly just me fooling around haha, do you guys think I should continue this? Let me know what you guys think, then I'll see if I should go on with this or not._

_Also don't worry, I am not abandoning The Man Who Knew Too Much, that one is still my main fic :) Update is coming soon!  
_


	2. PART I: Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_ _After the lovely reviews I received on the first chap I have decided to continue on this story! :D In my head it is turning into a huge thing, so I can guarantee you lots of adventure, angst, drama and loags of SPN characters haha... Thanks so much for encouraging me and I hope you like it :)_

_Again this hasn't been betad yet, so sorry for errors. I hope my beta will get around to it soon :)_

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**PART I**

**Chapter 2**

This was not a good day for Sam Winchester.

He had woken up to a depressingly gray sky; not that that wasn't normal around here, but it did tend to lower one's spirit right after stepping outside. Then he had gone to assemble his hunting gear, only to realize that his favorite longbow was in need of a new bowstring after he had lent it to his brother the previous day. That had been his own fault though, he should've known the guy would once again be reckless with it.

When he had finally gone to get his horse ready for the forest, his father had stopped him to inform him that he was on town-duty today. This basically meant that whoever's turn it was, had to take their village's few crops and harvest, but mostly the meat they procured from hunting into the nearest, larger town and turn it all into profit by finding buyers. Most of the men and women in the village hated that particular job, but everyone had to be part of the group now and again, though Sam had a feeling that he was put in more than others because his father knew about the likeable qualities he could use on potential customers.

Their town was a well-oiled little machine, all of its inhabitants having banded together to support each other in the pursuit of survival. One might've thought that to be an impressive achievement, but the main reason was that they didn't really have another choice out here. No one would come to help them if they couldn't manage on their own, and so they took care of their own.

So Sam had made the journey to the large town, along with the three other people who had been assigned to the duty, one of them being one of his best friends. That hadn't actually been so bad. But once they had reached the town, they had come to see with their own eyes what others had been rumoring about for a while now.

No one was buying.

The market was worse than the young Winchester had ever seen before, all due to the fact that King Michael was virtually bleeding the town's inhabitants with his ridiculously high taxes. The demands had always been severe on the poor, but this was different. Before most of them could manage, scrape up the money one way or another if families supported each other, but in the last few weeks it had gotten nearly unbearable.

These were the moments Sam considered himself and his family lucky to live out in the country where they could at least try to nourish themselves. The King's men would come to collect their tributes, but between keeping the larger part of their product to themselves and trading whatever was left on the town's market, they mostly managed to keep all the people in the village fed.

Sam had no doubt that this was also due to the fact that his father and his uncle Bobby were meticulously good at manipulating the books to fool the King's soldiers into taking a much smaller fee than what they would've actually owed. A crime like this put them in danger of being hanged if they should ever get caught, but then again, his father was a smart man. He would not get caught.

So all in all Sam Winchester decided he had had more than enough of this crappy day, when by the time midday passed they still hadn't gotten rid of even half their goods.

"What you thinking 'bout, Sammy?" the bright female voice of his best friend ripped him from his bleak thoughts.

"Hey," he scolded his friend playfully. "Dean's the only one that gets to call me that."

"Though the only reason I can see for that is that you probably couldn't get him to _stop_," Jo chuckled in amusement, her blonde hair dancing in the slight breeze as she placed another sack of potatoes on the table.

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. He couldn't really argue with that.

"Everything ok?" she asked again, her face now turning more serious.

"Yeah, yeah…" Sam nodded. "It's just… This whole thing is a bust!" He waved his hand loosely across their merchandise indicating the sheer mass that they still had to get rid of. "No one's buying."

"I know, tell me about it," Jo sighed. "Not even my female charms are working!" She teasingly threw one arm over her beautiful hair and shot the tall man a dazzling smile. "That's usually worth gold."

"Yeah, as long as you're not scaring off people just by being here, Harvelle," one of the other hunters chuckled sarcastically, the black skin of his face crinkling in amusement.

"Oh, shut your trap, Gordon!" Jo scoffed, chucking the rag at him that she had just used to clean some of the vegetables. "You're just upset I shot down that big stag before you yesterday!"

Not paying attention to Gordon's instant response Sam grinned at the small blonde next to him. Their companion did have a point of course; it was very unusual for a woman to present herself as strongly in the world of men as Jo did. They sometimes earned a lot of strange looks in the towns they associated with, because the stance on women in their village was somewhat different than others.

Their reasons for that were mostly economic, he knew that his father thought as much. They needed people who worked hard and well to keep their system going and they couldn't afford to be picky as to who those people were. If a woman was as great at the job as a man, that was just as good. And Jo had proven herself to actually be better than a lot of the men, which of course served to rub a lot of them the wrong way.

One of the reasons Sam admired her so much was seeing how well she stood her own in a group of partners that constantly doubted her. He knew her well enough to know that she also had a more vulnerable side to her, but she never showed it in public, she couldn't afford to. She needed to show ten times the strength of a man to actually be accepted as an equal.

After a few minutes of playfully bantering back and forth, Jo cut off her conversation with Gordon to attend to an actual customer that had decided to appear. Sam watched her trying to achieve the sale and she was doing a good job as always, but the circumstances were just not on their side.

The woman ended up buying only a small amount of deer, only a little. Always a little. It seemed none of them could do better than that.

"This is getting annoying," Jo complained after their customer had left, leaning onto the table slightly to support her tired legs. "You know, maybe we should just try Dean's method. Scare the shit out of them until they buy anything you want."

"Right, cause that always works so well," Sam snorted, thinking of his impatient, belligerent brother who was more than incapable of this type of work.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Jo grumbled.

Sam watched her closely from the side, trying to see behind her so strongly built façade. He knew that he was one of the few people who actually knew Jo pretty well, but even for him it was always hard to tell what was going on in her head.

After another hour of unsuccessful business Gordon was the first to finally throw his hands up in defeat. "Ok, people, I'd say let's close up shop and head on."

"Agreed," Jo answered, starting to gather their largely remaining merchandise.

"Hey, guys, hold on a second," Sam protested, but when none of them listened to him he grabbed hold of one of the bags Jo was lifting off the table and lowered his voice to speak only with her. "Come on, you know we need the money…"

Jo gave him a strange look, her brown eyes gleaming with something the hunter couldn't identify. "Yes, I know we need the money, Sam," she whispered harshly. "I of all people know that we need the money!"

It was one of those rare moments when Sam thought he could see the tiniest hint of pain behind her usual strong, indifferent attitude and it instantly made him pull back, hazel eyes warm with compassion. "Of course, I'm sorry," he murmured. "I just thought maybe we should give it another hour or something…"

"Look around you, Sam," Jo shrugged sadly. "There's no one here, we're not gonna get rid of anything else in an hour… Besides, we've got the regulars waiting."

Sam nodded, she was right. They had two or three regular buyers in this town, who would always relieve them of a larger amount of their meat seeing as their hunters were very skilled in quality. It would be best not to keep any of them waiting too long.

After their little group had finished packing up their makeshift stand, they moved their horses along through the city to the houses of their customers. The first one they went to was a high-ranking businessman, always glad to pay a good price for the fresh meat. The second was a merchant and his family of seven children that needed to be well fed and therefore always in need of a large quantity for storage. And then the third was an art dealer, a salesman who specialized in the trading and shipment of artwork to several customers all over the kingdom. With the inevitably big salary his line of work earned him, he was able to pay them a more than satisfactory price.

By the time they had reached the back entrance of the man's house where they usually made their drop, Sam's heart had started pounding quite a bit faster in his chest. He stared at the brass doorknocker before him, uncertain and hesitant.

"Do you want me to do it?" Jo whispered softly from behind him.

Immediately following her words Sam stubbornly reached out and pounded on the door to announce their arrival. What was he even fussing about, she was probably not even here!

A few moments later the door opened to reveal a pretty, brunette woman standing on the other side. Yes, she was here. Of course she was here.

"Sam," she said, looking surprised, her deep, soft voice expressing joy and confusion at the same time.

"Hi, Sarah," Sam answered, trying to remain casual, but unable to hide the emotion from his eyes.

She looked as beautiful as he remembered her, her silky brown hair raised up to her head in a tidy hairdo and her tan skin shining in wonderful harmony to her light blue dress.

"We're just here to drop off your father's order," he went on before any of his companions would dare to say a word. "Is it ok if we come in?"

"Um…" She gave her head the slightest shake as if reminding herself what she was really doing here. "Yeah, sure. Just put it straight in the pantry."

She stepped away from the door to make room when Gordon and Hank moved to carry their large load into the house. Jo followed with the second, lighter bag, leaving Sam standing awkwardly in the entrance with the young woman.

He noticed that she was studying him closely while he was doing his best to avoid her gaze. A moment of uncomfortable silence inevitably ensued.

"How are you?" she then asked quietly.

"Um…" Sam started, trying to think of something to say. "Uh… I'm, I'm all right I guess." He self-consciously ran one hand through his shaggy, brown hair. "And you?"

She nodded, the hint of a smile forming on her pretty face. "Getting better," she responded. "You know, my father's glad to have me and… Well, I'm still grateful."

There were so many things left unsaid in the way she looked at him that Sam just couldn't bring himself to leave it like that.

"Sarah, I…" he started earnestly, but before he could say more, his crew noisily made their way back from the pantry and straight toward them. All that remained was that wonderful, gentle look in the woman's eyes before they were no longer alone.

"All right, that was everything!" Gordon announced, stepping in between the two of them and back out onto the street. "Miss Blake, would you mind fetching us our money?"

Jo shot Sam a long and meaningful gaze when she walked past him and out to their companions.

"Um, yes, of course," Sarah responded. "I'll have Phillip come down and give it to you right away."

She smiled politely, backing away to call one of her servants. Before she left the room however, she turned back once more and hesitated, looking at Sam.

"It was nice seeing you," she said quietly.

Sam gave her a strained smile that she almost didn't see because she was leaving so quickly.

"You too," her murmured after she was already gone.

Soon they had received their money and were on their way to the next customers, selling to about four more of them before finally calling it a day and heading out of town and back home. They had ultimately managed to sell only little more than half of all their goods, which made it one of the worst sales-days he had ever been on. Maybe now his father would finally stop putting him on the team so much.

"Hey," Jo said smiling, riding up next to him on her horse as they were all heading back to their village. "You ok?"

Sam shrugged, shifting his mouth into an indifferent expression. "Yeah," he responded. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, come on," Jo rolled her eyes. "Don't you even start this shit! Pretending not to feel crappy, that's Dean's M.O., not yours." After grinning triumphantly over her smart analysis, her gaze again turned more compassionate. "There's something eating at you, I can tell."

Sam sighed, looking down at his horse's neck to avoid her gaze.

"Fine, I'll do the talking," she shrugged. "Look, I remember what you told me about Sarah. I know you guys had a thing or… Yeah, I don't even know what the hell it was, cause _that_ you didn't tell me."

Sam almost felt the urge to smile at the slightly reproachful undertone in her voice.

"I don't really know how you feel about it, but… I do know you saved her life, you and Dean. And she's grateful for that," Jo said softly and slowly, as if she wanted to make sure that he understood every word. "She's grateful and… she's smart, strong. She's a nice girl, Sam."

He finally brought himself to raise his head and look at her. "So?" he wanted to know, trying to make sense of why she was saying all this.

"So…" Jo slowly went on. "What's holding you back?"

Sam looked at her for a long moment, his fingers playing idly in his pocket. Jo turned sympathetic eyes away from him and nodded in understanding, for they both knew. They knew what he was now holding in his hand, what he could never bring himself to let go of and what would always linger with him one way or another.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence, each of the four hunters riding for himself toward the village in the late hours of the afternoon. By the time they arrived, the distant sun had already sunk to a very low level on the horizon, telling them that all the labor in the village would soon be over for the day.

When his horse stepped into the center of the small village as the first of the group, Sam instantly spotted his father walking toward them, awaiting the report of their day's work.

Perhaps John could tell from either their obvious amount of still available merchandise or his son's guilt-stricken expression that their sales-day hadn't been all that successful, for he nodded in grave understanding even before any of them had said a word.

"Hey, Sam," he said as soon as the young Winchester had gotten off his horse. "No good news, I take it?"

Sam shook his head, giving his father an apologetic look. "No, sorry," he responded. "The market's horrible."

"Still nobody buying, then?" John asked, stepping closer to his son.

"No, Sir," Sam confirmed. "A lot of people can't afford it, they're basically just all… fighting for survival." He was surprised at how bitter his own words sounded. Even though he primarily had his own people to worry about, the suffering from the people in the town had not left him unmarked; deep down he wished he could help every single one of them.

"Those god damned angels," John murmured, his voice filled with anger. "They're gonna be the death of us all, I'm telling you."

No one argued with him.

When Sam was just about to ask his father another question, he was to see a look of equal anger and hatred directed at something behind him, something out of his line of sight. Before he even turned around to see what it was, he could make out the distinct sound of hooves approaching them, foreign hooves clad in iron that did not belong to any of their horses. It was in that moment that he realized that his father's words had not only been meant in general but were in fact directed at a certain individual.

At that he finally turned around and gazed upon something that was so rare he had only seen it a few times in his life. A man was sitting on his horse before them, his posture proud and his clothes expensive, the uniform instantly indicating that he was one of the King's officials.

But he wasn't a mere human official as were normal in these parts, he was too noble for that. From the armor on the horse all the way to his silver sword, pale skin and his condescending expression, everything about this man screamed angel, most likely a high ranking officer in the King's guard. Sam had only rarely ever looked upon the nobility of the Kingdom in his life, for none of them were known to venture this far into unimportant and lonely villages. No, these officials, which were elected directly from the angel rank of the population were only ever sent on the most important of errands.

For a long moment there was a deadly silence in the center of the village, all of its inhabitants too baffled and intimidated to say even a word. Sam looked at his father and saw the same amount of shock mirrored there that he was feeling, paired with a raw hatred that he was so obviously trying to hide.

After the stillness had become almost unbearable, the proud angel finally opened his mouth to speak. "Dean and Samuel Winchester?" he asked loudly with a clear voice that was carried across the whole square.

Too shocked to even think straight, Sam took a cautious step forward, his body feeling numb and weak all over. "Yes," he said quietly. "I'm Sam."

The angel gave him a horribly scrutinizing once-over, scanning him from head to toe before finally stretching out an elegantly rolled and sealed piece of parchment.

"King Michael is in need of your service."


	3. PART I: Chapter 3

**_A/N:_ **_Thanks again for the reviews I received after last chapter! :D Thank you so much for reading and I really hope you guys will like it!_

_This chapter: Enter the most badass brothers in the world :P Unbetad so sorry for any errors._

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**PART I**

**Chapter 3**

"This is stupid!"

Sam gave an exasperated sigh at his brother's grumbling comment. "Dean, would you just quit complaining for one"-

"No, seriously!" Dean exclaimed, shutting his brother down at once. "This is a pile of fucking horseshit, man!"

His loud and gruff voice carried only a short way across the giant courtyard they were crossing, yet Sam noticed that they still received several ill-favored looks from the nearby guards. He hoped to God that they wouldn't get themselves into any trouble.

"Ok, dude, what the hell," Sam grabbed his brother by the shoulder and turned him to the side so they were facing each other. "You changed your mind about three times before we even left, then you wouldn't fucking shut up about it on the whole trip here! But I thought we'd finally agreed before entering the city, so what the hell is wrong now?"

Dean hesitated for a moment, attempting to find an argument that he hadn't yet used. "Nothing," he then said grumpily, looking left and right at the unfamiliar surroundings. "I just don't like this! Sam, come on, man, we shouldn't even be here!"

"Dean, we've been over this," Sam said strictly, his patience wearing thin at his brother's continued stubbornness. "We need the money."

Dean sighed, rubbing his palm across his face and down to his jaw. "Yeah, I know," he responded reluctantly. "Ellen needs the money."

"Yes, she does," Sam agreed, hazel eyes turning horribly sad for a moment. "May be her only chance."

Dean didn't say anything to that, but stared gloomily down at his boots as they both thought of the woman they were so close to.

"And there's no way we're gonna raise that kinda money ourselves," Sam said quietly, helplessly. "If we want to give it a shot and get her that medicine… we need to figure out something else, man. Something like _this_!"

His older brother now had that deeply menacing look in his eyes, the one that was so similar of that of their father when they decided to direct all their failure and all their suffering toward the one thing they could deem guilty.

"Oh, we could raise it by ourselves, Sammy," Dean growled angrily. "We could do it anytime if these frickin' angels decided to stop bleeding us for even a day!"

"Dean…" Sam sighed, knowing that this was neither the time nor place, but Dean wouldn't hear of it.

"I mean, look around this fucking place, man!" he said, low enough to keep their conversation to themselves, but still in an incredibly aggressive tone of voice. "Look at all the shit they have, how friggin' perfect all their little lives are! And they don't give a crap about any of us starving to death, so what, now we're supposed to help them?"

Sam shrugged. "Those are the rules. We didn't make 'em."

Dean rolled his eyes, proclaiming his annoyance for his brother's ever-wise answers, but then gave a slight nod of defeat and continued walking across the courtyard, therefore indicating that they were still in agreement over the plan.

"I still don't like it though," Dean grumbled quietly, knowing that Sam would ignore him this time.

The two of them continued walking over the huge square and toward the beautiful and majestic palace towering over them, all of its ornament and marble glory shining down upon the largest and most magnificent city in the kingdom. The city's name was Hemina and it was a place in the centre of the angelic realms, reserved for only the richest and most noble of the kingdom.

Sam and Dean had never been to the city before in their lives; in fact only few normal humans ever had. The journey had taken them no more than a few days after they had decided to follow the very vague message, telling them nothing of the exact reason they were being summoned but promising a very alluring reward. Much to their father's dismay, who much like Dean didn't want to hear anything about a plan that would involve helping angels, Sam had managed to convince his brother to at least hear what the king's proposal would be. Also, he couldn't deny the fact that he felt a strange sense of curiosity about the capital of the kingdom and its inhabitants, his ever-lasting thirst for knowledge making him want to see as much of the world as was possible.

When the brothers had arrived at the giant entrance of the shining, white palace, Sam was still too awed by its breathtaking beauty to realize what was happening. He was pulled back to reality when he heard a nervous grunt from his brother and felt a quick tug on his belt, informing him that Dean had removed the official roll of parchment and handed it to one of the guards.

"Uh, we're supposed to see the king?" Dean asked cautiously.

The guard gave them a skeptical frown and looked through the document briefly. "Are you the Winchesters?" he then wanted to know.

"Uh…" Dean and Sam shared a brief gaze. "Yeah."

The angel – they were all so obviously angels here, even the guards and servants – nodded curtly and motioned to one of his colleagues so they both stepped over and started pulling open the huge door, making the massive marble creak and scratch over the floor in protest. Moments later, Dean and Sam found themselves staring into a giant – why was everything so damn _giant_ around here? – carpeted, entrance hall, embellished with plenty of nicely chiseled columns and leading toward wide and elegant staircase. Again there were several guards lined up around the walls of the hall and soon there was a neatly clothed servant walking their way, looking at the guard expectantly.

"Dean and Sam Winchester," the guard spoke, passing the servant the roll of parchment. "Here to see King Michael."

The servant took the parchment and nodded toward the two brothers. "Follow me, please."

Dean gave Sam a look that spoke volumes of what he held of all this stilted politeness before both of them set out to follow the short man across the entrance hall. After having ascended the staircase, they were led along a large corridor adorned with large paintings and a velvet, blue carpet beneath their feet.

"Hey, man, I'm just wondering…" Dean whispered, apparently taken aback by how loud his voice still sounded through the echo in these huge halls. "You don't think we're in any kind of trouble do you?"

Sam gave him a surprised look, while Dean tried to keep his voice as low as possible. "You know, cause of the… the – _special_ type of hunting and all…" he murmured conspiratorially, genuine worry becoming palpable from the look in his eyes.

"No, I don't think so," Sam shook his head. "Dean, if we were in trouble they wouldn't bother getting us here. They would've just, you know… hung us out in the village or something. Wouldn't be that important to them."

"Well, that's comforting," Dean snorted sarcastically, but kept his mouth shut for the rest of the way.

After the servant had lead them through a whole array of corridors and hallways and beautiful staircases, they had finally arrived before yet another large set of doors. The servant duly bowed to them and nodded to the two men standing on either side of the doors. Sam and Dean braced themselves for what was to come and then the doors were gracefully pulled open, revealing the shimmering and magnificent throne room.

Bathed in golden sunlight from the many artistically crafted windows, the room presented a beauty that Sam had seldom been able to look upon in his life. The columns, which were adorned with golden and silver ornaments rose to a high stone ceiling and a masterful chandelier. The walls were covered in canvasses and portraits from long lost ages and the floor was carpeted with a kingly tone of red, giving the whole composition a beautifully crafted sublimity.

"Dude," Dean murmured, a slight and quiet whistle sounding out from between his teeth.

Both of them stepped into the room, following the servant and slowly started making their way between the columns and toward the heightened and noble throne. However the velvet seat, they soon discovered was empty, for the king was standing a little ways away on the floor below, talking to another man.

At first sight Sam was taken aback, for King Michael was not at all what he had expected him to be. His tall figure seemed to be quite thin and muscular beneath his elegant robes. His face, when he turned to look over at the newcomers bore incredibly young and handsome features, awakening the feeling that he couldn't be much older than either of the two brothers. His black hair sat neatly beneath the simple, golden crown on his head, his eyes looked nothing more than warm and welcoming.

It was not at all what the two brothers had pictured, all those years that their father had went on and on cursing and swearing about the murderous and ruthless king who cared nothing about the suffering of those less fortunate. No, this man before them seemed compassionate, kind and benevolent; no monstrous qualities whatsoever seemed to live within him.

As for the man standing next to Michael, his robes were equally as noble as those of the king, various colors complimenting his black skin tone. If it weren't for the crown on Michael's head, the two of them might have even appeared equal, therefore leading Sam to believe that the second man had to be one of the empire's princes.

He cast a brief glance toward Dean beside him and could see that his brother was pouring all his best efforts into not appearing hateful and hostile toward the two men. Sam only wished he would succeed, the last thing their town needed was the wrath of the king himself.

"Dean and Sam Winchester, my liege," the servant spoke when they had reached the end of the room, bowing deeply to Michael.

The king gave them both a look of high interest and Sam knew that he had to be the first to act; Dean would most likely be too stubborn to do so. So the younger Winchester took a step forward and bowed respectfully, lowering his head so his shaggy brown locks fell down over his face. With only a second's hesitation he could feel Dean following his lead beside him.

"Your Highness," he said.

"Rise," Michael responded, his voice warm and friendly.

Sam looked up to the king who was now facing them completely, the dark-haired man at his side. He on the other hand did not look as welcoming as Michael did.

"It's an honor, Sire," Sam said slowly, an inner voice reminding him of all the stories he had heard as a child of how much angels valued good manners.

"The pleasure is all mine," Michael smiled. "How good of you to have travelled this far."

Sam and Dean both nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"My brother, prince Raphael," Michael said, gesturing toward the man beside him.

The brothers bowed once more, but Raphael made no move to respond in any way and his expression was bordering on hostile. It was clear that he didn't approve of his brother's wish to have them here.

"I trust you are wondering why I have summoned you here," the king went on, looking over Dean and Sam's expectant faces. "I am in need of a certain kind of assistance and I hear you two have the skills I require." He showed them a pleasant smile. "Your reputation exceeds you."

Sam felt himself getting slightly nervous at the words. What reputation was he talking about? He knew that what he and Dean were doing to help people in their realms had become quite known among the locals, but never would he have guessed that the news would travel as far as Hemina. Or perhaps the king just had his own sources of information.

"What reputation?" Dean asked aggressively and Sam immediately felt the need to shut him up, knowing what his brother was about to risk. "We're just trying to help people. You know, protect them from all the evil out there. We're doing your job really!"

Sam drew in a sharp breath; Dean was risking a hell of a lot with this. Raphael's eyes were gleaming with rage and hatred as he took a step forward.

"You insolent, little"-

But before he could reach Dean, Michael put up his arm to block his brother's passage. The soft and simple motion, however effortless it seemed stopped Raphael dead in his tracks. It was clear that any other angel in Michael's position would have thrown the two brothers in the dungeon for their disrespect, but Sam became wary when he noticed an almost amused glint in the king's eyes.

"I know," he nodded kindly. "You are right."

But despite his likeable appearance, Sam's suspicions were now aroused. At once he could feel that this warm and friendly version of the king was not necessarily the true nature of his being. He was testing them. Testing their reactions, attempting to appear trustworthy so he could best assert what their values were. Sam had no doubt that if properly provoked, Michael could reveal a side of himself that was nowhere near as pleasant as the one they were currently seeing.

"I have the greatest respect for your abilities," he said with an honest seeming smile, evidently trying to tame Dean's anger. "And I am grateful for your efforts."

"Thank you," Dean said stiffly. This would remain hidden to anyone else who didn't know him as well as Sam did, but the younger Winchester instantly noticed from his tone of voice and the fake understanding in his eyes that his elder brother had spotted the same thing he did.

"In fact," Michael continued, taking a step forward and leaving Raphael standing on his spot with a gloomy and outraged expression. "They are the reason why I have called you here today, why our people need your help." He paused for a brief moment, his smile fading into an expression of earnest seriousness. "Why _I_ need your help."

Sam and Dean shared a look, preparing themselves for what was coming.

"I, uh…" Michael turned away from them and placed his hands behind his back while he paced over to look out of one of the large windows. "I regret to inform you that our youngest brother… prince Castiel… has been captured." He turned around to face them again, his face now holding an incredibly grave expression. "By the enemy."

All of them remained silent for a moment as the king waited for the message to sink in. What confused Sam most was the term _the enemy_. He hadn't known that the kingdom possessed an active enemy at the time or was in any state of conflict, not that they were aware of anyway. But obviously this was more about the king's brother than about any questions concerning State affairs. The name didn't ring a bell with him, although that meant little for he wasn't even sure how many princes there were anyway. Five? Four? Somewhere around that number. The fact that it was the youngest did make the whole thing seem more severe though.

"I'm sorry," Sam said genuinely. He didn't know Michael, nor did he particularly care for any of the angels living in this city, but he could imagine what it felt like to lose his brother like that. Actually what made him say it was more the fact that he _didn't want to_ imagine it. Cause it was the worst possible thing he could think of.

"When?" Dean wanted to know. He cared less about the king's feelings and was going straight for the factual questions.

"It's now been about a week since I received knowledge," Michael said quietly. "One of the soldiers that was with him when they took him… he survived, though badly wounded. He managed to send word only a few days after it happened."

The king started pacing again, evidently unable to stay still while talking about this grave topic. Raphael was still staring gloomily at the two brothers, Sam couldn't notice any difference in his expression. Perhaps he was just very good at hiding his emotions.

"Well, pardon me for asking," Dean said slowly (Sam knew it was probably costing him a big effort to be so polite). "But what do you want us to do?"

Michael sighed in frustration. "Since receiving word of this, I have sent out several scouts and squadrons of my forces to find him or to at least locate where they took him… but so far I have learned nothing."

The king stopped his pacing next to a column and placed one of his hands on a pretty, golden embellishment, leaning against it for support. "I have no idea where he could be or what they are doing to him."

After a moment of silence he gave his head a slight shake, as if forcing himself to go back to business. "A mission like this does not call for force, but finesse," he said decidedly. "Whoever does this must be able to become one with the countryside, travel through foreign lands." He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Find a hidden and smart way to break into hostile fortresses before my brother is in danger of being disposed of."

There was something about the way he spoke the last few words that seemed incredibly cold to Sam.

"So let me get this straight," Dean responded skeptically. "You want us to rescue him? What, just the two of us?"

"Precisely," Michael said confidently. "You are the best hunters anyone in this kingdom has heard of. Your special abilities give you equally good chances." He stared at them imploringly, even if Sam wasn't sure they even had the choice to walk away. "I am asking you to save my brother."

Sam and Dean shared another look and Sam knew from the look in his brother's eyes that they were thinking the same thing. It was a hell of a risky task to take on, but did they even have a choice? Could they say no if they wanted to or would Michael just threaten to burn down their home village?

Sam knew that neither of them trusted this warm and benevolent behavior the king was presenting. If they didn't do what he asked, he could probably turn cruel in just moments.

"How… how would we even start?" Sam asked. "If we do this, how do you think we'd be any better at finding him?"

Michael contemplated the question for a moment before answering. "I can give you all the information my soldiers have found out for me," he replied. "Places he was last sighted and so on. However for all else, I trust that your skills have not been exaggerated in all the stories I have been told."

In other words, they were completely on their own.

The brothers continued their silent communication, trying to decide the matter without actually discussing it. Sam knew that Dean was reluctant to do anything that involved helping an angel, most of all the king. He himself wasn't so keen on it either, to be honest, but he couldn't help that he kept seeing Jo's face before him, the way she had looked in one of her rare vulnerable moments. Eyes swollen, blonde hair filthy from their latest hunt and so incredibly lost and helpless. If her mother died… there were no words for how utterly distraught they all would be.

The town's heart would stop beating. All of them would stop existing for a dreadful moment. The two Winchesters would lose the only mother figure they had ever had, ever since that dreadful fire in their youth when they had lost their own. The town would lose one of its most driving spirits, one of the people that had kept them going for so many years. And Jo would most likely lose her will to live, for her mother was the only family she had left.

Those consequences were unacceptable. They had to help Ellen, they simply _had_ to, no matter what way they would achieve it.

"What's in it for us?" Dean wanted to know, although both of them knew exactly why they would agree to do this.

Michael gave them a pleasant smile once again, probably knowing that he had already persuaded them. "Both of you will receive a large reward of course. I will pay anything to ensure that my brother gets home unharmed," he made sure to emphasize. "And you will have the undying gratitude and benevolence of me and all the people of the empire."

There was a long moment of silence as the brothers contemplated the offer.

Most of the people in the empire wouldn't even notice, Sam figured. They were too busy trying to survive.

"So…" Michael concluded, looking at both of them in turn. "What do you say?"


	4. PART I: Chapter 4

**_A/N: _**_For those of you who wanted to know how Cas was doing... Here's an update on his situation ;)_

_Unbetad, so sorry for any errors. Enjoy and review, please! :)_

* * *

**PART I**

**Chapter 4**

Castiel stared numbly ahead at the dull bars at the front of his cell, leaning his tired head against the brick wall behind him. He did not know what time of day it was, he never knew, for there were no windows down here, only the gloomy lights of torches.

Time quickly became meaningless in a hellhole like this. He knew it had taken them about a week, travelling along countrysides and foreign places to arrive at this castle, but unfortunately he had no idea where he was. He had been bound and blindfolded for most of the journey here, which had served to make it even more exhausting, but fulfilled its purpose of disorienting him completely. If he ever got out of this dungeon, which was highly unlikely, he would probably never be able to find his way back home.

Upon arrival they had stuck him straight down here, no questions asked. This had very much confused him, for he had expected to be interrogated or used or tormented in some way. But what did he know? Maybe they were just letting him stew for a few days or were planning something far worse. If anything, he did not believe for one second that he was off the hook.

Hours and hours passed, it might have even been days, he could not tell. His only sign of time was when the guards outside his cell were exchanged, which was most likely every few hours, but he couldn't know for sure. Over time he found that he strangely grew more tired and more alert at the same time. Fear could be very tiring and the longer he was locked in here, the more afraid he became. But that fear also served to make him extremely wary and show attention to every detail that changed around him.

After a while of watching, he noticed one time that one of the guards must have a deformed foot, for the way he moved was very clumsy and slow. Another time he realized that it was always the same servant that came down to change the burnt out torches in for new ones. He doubted that such information would help him much in this situation though.

One day however someone finally put an end to his dreary existence of doing nothing more than paying attention to insignificant detail. A group of three soldiers came down into the dungeon and ordered the guards to unlock the door to his cell.

"Get up," one of the soldiers ordered him gruffly. "Apparently our good Lord wants to see you."

He received no further information than this. Castiel's hands were bound before his body and he was then lead out of the cell and up the stairs into the castle. Using his now highly trained abilities of perception (wandering the countryside blindfolded for a week also enabled one to develop a more focused sense of hearing), the young prince paid high attention to everything he encountered on the way, from the small, narrow corridors they passed to several suits of armor that were on display. On the whole the castle didn't seem all that large, definitely a lot smaller than the one he had grown up in in Hemina and it was very dark and gloomy, lacking the artful integration of sunlight that his home possessed.

It did not take them very long to walk from the dungeons to their destination, but then again Castiel wasn't sure if he could completely trust his sense of time. The room they eventually lead him into appeared to be some sort of situation room with a large table set up in the middle and several tablets displaying drawings of maps and graphics and more. There were several people standing around the table, some pouring over piles of parchment, others engaged in deep discussion. All in all it was a weird place to bring a prisoner, Castiel thought.

"My Lord," the soldier standing before him spoke loudly and for a short moment Castiel found himself wondering who would look up for they all looked pretty much the same to him. There were no crowns or jewelry or any special symbol that elevated one of them as the leader. "The prisoner as you requested."

Almost all of the men in the room looked up to see what was happening, but only one of them immediately stepped forward and Castiel guessed that he must be the highest ranking of them all. He was a middle-aged tall and rather thin man with a highly cryptic look on his face. The young prince squared his shoulders as best he could with his bound hands and raised his chin up high to look proud. He would refuse to show them even a single sign of weakness.

"So…" the tall man spoke, giving Castiel a scrutinizing once-over. "This is Castiel…" He stared at him for a moment, before shrugging with a slight smirk. "You're shorter than I expected."

A low rumbling chuckle went through the group of men in the room, but at this point Castiel was way beyond caring about jokes at his expense. "And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" he said slowly, drowning each syllable in as much sarcasm and disdain as he possibly could.

"Alistair," the man responded carelessly. Evidently he didn't think knowing his name would do the prince much good. He slowly moved forward until he was standing directly in front of Castiel and the latter did his best to not show any signs of discomfort. He could not move away if he wanted to, the soldiers were holding him firmly in place.

"You have spent almost three days in your cell now…" Alistair went on watching him closely, drawling out the words as if he was tasting each one of them. Had it only been three days? It had seemed much longer to him, but maybe that was the idea. "Are we feeling chatty yet?"

Castiel frowned at the man, for he had such a weird way of speaking. It wasn't the language he had learned to use while growing up, not the language of royalty, it was almost _common_. He wondered who exactly these people were, for he knew nothing whatsoever about them, except that they were wearing the emblem of a long-defeated enemy.

Alistair sighed at his prisoner's silence, acting as if he were too stupid to understand the question. "Are you ready to talk?"

Castiel glared up at him. "I will tell you nothing."

"Oh yes, you will," Alistair responded casually, carelessly as if it were already a given fact. "You're going to tell us everything. Every unprotected crack or crevice in Michael's kingdom, every battle strategy that he has laid out, every town that seems worth mentioning."

Castiel continued to glare at him, not backing down for a second. "No," he said firmly. "I won't do that."

He did not even know all the information that this man was asking of him, because as the youngest Michael would never let him in as much on the planning and scheming as his older brothers, but even if he did, he wouldn't tell them.

"The only question is…" Alistair went on, as if Castiel hadn't said anything. "If you'll do so by mild means or more… enhanced ones." He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, before looking over at the group of men still standing around the table. "My good Azazel," he then said, gesturing toward one of them.

When the man stepped forward out of the crowd, Castiel let out a small gasp of recognition. He hadn't noticed him inside the group but it was him, the yellow-eyed man, the one who had captured him and tormented him by hauling him blindly through foreign lands for a week. The one who had killed Inias. While looking upon him the young prince began to feel a rising mixture of fear and undying hatred.

"You were with the angel for almost a week," Alistair spoke to the yellow-eyed man, who was eying Castiel with a highly interested smirk. "What do you suggest?"

"Oh, very defiant," Azazel responded, but the way he was saying the words sounded almost like he was mocking the prince. "He's gonna be hard to break. I suggest you take him back down to the dungeons and tell the good Mister to start on him right away."

As much as the sound of his words made Castiel feel sick with fear, all of his current senses were occupied with the flaming rage and hatred that he carried toward this man. He wished nothing more than to leap forward and claw into him with his bare hands, releasing even larger pools of blood than had vacated Inias in death.

"All right," Alistair decided and gestured to the soldiers. "Take him back, men."

"Yes, sir," one of them nodded and moved to turn around.

"You will pay!" Castiel heard himself growl, almost as if it wasn't him that was speaking, for the boundless fury was making him feel detached from his own body. "You will pay for what you did to Inias!"

The guards moved to lead him away, but he didn't budge and strained against their grip. "Do you hear me?" he yelled, as the soldiers started dragging him screaming and struggling out of the room. "You will pay!"

The last thing he saw was the yellow-eyed man's amused smirk.

. . .

The spot where Michael's scouts had last caught a glimpse of prince Castiel was at the opposite side of the kingdom, meaning over hundreds and hundreds of miles away from the two Winchester's hometown.

They had both decided not to return back home, but to go on the mission right away because they knew that their father would probably talk them out of it. One did not help angels, not for all the money in the world after the horrible things they had all done to the lower class humans. Principles had always been more important to John than anything else. Even if that meant sacrificing the life of a loved one.

Though the two brothers were both in agreement over the reasons why they had decided to go on the mission anyway, Dean still didn't like the fact that Sam seemed to find it so easy to disobey their father. For him this was a very difficult situation and he was still struggling with it, because there was nothing on earth that deserved more attention than his father's orders. He had been the one to get the town as well as them safely through the past years of hunger, he always knew what was the right thing to do, he was the man they should be following. Going against that was like ignoring one of nature's most basic instincts for Dean and he could not understand how Sammy could just shrug it off like this.

_We're grown-ups, Dean_, he had said. _Dad knows we can take care of ourselves_.

These parts of the kingdom weren't completely unfamiliar to them as they had already come down here once on a rather unusual hunt, sent at the request of their Uncle Bobby.

"I know your dad don't want you boys to leave the homestead too far behind," he had said to them in secret. "But if you could check it out off the record… Would mean the world to me."

That had been the first and only time in his life that Dean had ever done something without his father knowing about it, because Bobby was the only person besides Sam that he trusted just as much. The fact had been that the man had an old acquaintance down in these parts that had been struggling with a very unusual haunting terrorizing more than five villages. Bobby would've gone and helped him himself if he hadn't known that he was absolutely indispensable to John's organization of the village, more than the boys were. So the two young Winchesters had travelled down here to take care of it.

Ever since their encounter with King Michael a few days ago, Dean had found himself thinking more and more about what the guy had said about their _reputation_. Up until now he had not realized how well he and his brother were known in the kingdom for their skills, because they were by far not the only ones that conducted something more than just normal hunting. Even in their own village there were several hunters who had also acquired a few special skills. Jo had recently been getting involved in the business as well, though that was not a development that Dean especially liked to see. It was not because she was a woman, but more the fact that he didn't wish to see the sweet child he had grown up with mindlessly throw herself into situations as dangerous as him and Sam.

He knew for a fact that other villages also sometimes harbored people who were doing the same type of work, so on the whole, he did not understand why he and Sam were apparently so much more famous than the rest of them. Sure, they were good at the job, awesome really, but it still seemed strange.

"Hey, wise guy," Dean said after a while, looking over at his brother that was perched on his horse beside him. "Any luck with that map?"

Sam was almost scowling at the large sheet of parchment he was holding between his wide spread arms. "I'm getting there," he murmured.

"So, that's a no," Dean decided casually.

"Shut up," Sam grunted.

Dean chuckled, prompting his horse to walk further into the forest that they suspected was the target's general direction.

"I know where we are…" Sam mumbled more to himself than to his brother. "I just…"

"…don't know where we're going?" Dean suggested, which earned him an exasperated sigh.

"You wanna try it, Dean?" Sam exclaimed loudly, slamming the map down on the front of his saddle. His horse didn't so much as flinch, it was used to a lot worse. "Cause you're doing pretty well at complaining!"

"Nope," Dean smirked cheerfully. "All yours, Sammy."

Sam huffed in annoyance and started digging around in his saddlebag until he extracted a neat little book that contained all of his notes. "All right," he said, quickly flicking through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "I know how Bobby described the place, I just can't find it on the map…" He frowned at his own handwriting and looked back and forth between the book and the map. "We're only a few hours away."

"Yeah, I can't believe you wrote that down just from that one time he told us!" Dean stated in disbelief, shaking his head at his little brother's freakiness. "My God, you're a geek!"

"You know, it might not be the best time to make fun of me for that when it actually works in our favor," Sam retorted, but couldn't hide his amused smirk as he shook his head as well.

The place they were talking about was an old pub somewhere far on the unknown border of the kingdom that Bobby had told them about when informing them about the case they had taken here. Dean remembered him mentioning it too, yet he begrudgingly had to admit that he would never have been able to think of it if Sammy wouldn't always write every fucking thing down in his nerd book. Apparently it was a place where some older hunters sometimes passed through and people knew more about the realms beyond the kingdom than was generally known. It wasn't much, but it was their best shot at the moment.

"So… this should be the right direction we're going in," Sam concluded, finally putting his things away. "Of course there's no telling if this'll help with finding the guy."

Dean snorted. "No, course not," he sighed in irritation. "No more the mighty king could find out before putting his willing human slaves on it!"

"Dean," Sam reproved him, knowing that his brother was just about to start another rant against angels.

"Still can't believe we took this fucking mission, man," Dean grumbled displeased, but Sam ignored him and he knew why. He had uttered that comment far too many times since they had left home for it to be taken seriously any longer.

"I hope Jo's ok," Sam suddenly muttered thoughtfully. "I didn't have time to give her much of an explanation…"

Dean gave him a quick glance, his mind instantly returning to the subject of all the danger Jo could be putting herself in while they were gone. He quickly shook those thoughts off. "Nah, she's gonna be fine," he said certainly. "She's a tough cookie, Sam, she can handle anything."

"Except maybe losing her mother…" Sam murmured sadly.

Dean fell silent for a moment, his thoughts now turning to the very sick Ellen. She had been so full of life when he had been younger, but in the past year she had drifted farther and farther away from herself as the dreadful illness took hold. "Yeah," he agreed grimly. "Let's hope we can stop that from happening."

Sam nodded his agreement and then smiled at something he had evidently just remembered. "Remember when she busted us for stealing the arrows from Rufus' storage?" he asked chuckling.

Dean snorted in amusement, seeing the scene before his eyes as if it had been yesterday. "Sure do," he responded. "I remember when she caught you in Jane's cabin!" He chuckled. "She was pretty damn pissed…"

"Dean, I'm pretty sure that was you," Sam said, giving his brother a stern and incredulous look.

Dean closed his mouth and frowned in confusion. "Right," he murmured affirmatively.

Sam shook his head and gave a slight chuckle at his brother's expense. "I kinda think I know why she was so pissed though," he went on. "You know, cause of Jo."

Dean looked at him dumbly. "What about her?" he wanted to know.

Sam gave him a pointed look that needed no further words.

"Huh?" Dean said, voice heavily filled with incredulity. "Oh, come on, dude, Jo?" He shook his head slightly in disbelief when Sam's gaze didn't waver. "Barking up the wrong tree there, Sammy, she's like my sister," he insisted. "Nothing going on there, I promise you."

He turned his attention ahead to give his horse a light pat on its neck and therefore missed the sad and regretful smile that passed over his brother's face for only a second.

"Besides, when did you get all match-maky, Sam?" Dean wondered aloud. "I mean, it's usually you that hooks up with the ladies, right?"

He had said it in a light tone, trying to make a joke, his mind passing idly to Sarah, but he realized too late that it was a mistake. Sam's expression instantly confirmed that he had hit the nerve of all nerves, the one he had never in a million years intended to target.

"Oh…" Dean murmured regretfully, mentally slapping himself and wishing he could take his mindless comment back. "Look, man…"

Sam bowed his head and suddenly looked so incredibly young and vulnerable, while his fingers played absent-mindedly in his pocket.

"I'm sorry," Dean said honestly. "I didn't mean"-

"It's ok, Dean," Sam cut him off, forcing a weak smile onto his face. "I know you didn't."

Dean knew that Sam was being truthful, that he didn't resent him in any way for what he had said, but he still wished he could've spared his brother the unnecessary anguish. A thoughtful silence now lingered between them as they rode on side by side through the thickening forest.

And thus ended their amicable conversation.

* * *

_**A/N:** I'd just like to add a short explanation about the dialogue... I know this is a medieval fic so technically Sam and Dean shouldn't be talking in their same modern slang as they do on the original show. However I decidedly chose to keep their normal language even if it might be a tad unrealistic in the setting cause let's face it, this is a huge part of why we love them so much and without their fun banter they wouldn't really be the Winchesters anymore ;)_

_Hope this is ok for all of you and thanks so much for reading!_


	5. PART I: Chapter 5

_**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews again, I'm delighted to hear that some of you seem to be loving this story so much that you even drop your homework for it ;D Can't tell you how excited I was to hear that! XD_

_Unbetad, so sorry for errors. Enjoy!_

* * *

**PART I**

**Chapter 5**

_No_, Castiel kept thinking over and over. _No no no no no no no no no no no no no_.

Every part of him screamed to yell the word out loud, to strain and fight against his captors with every cell in his body, but he knew it would not do any good. Nothing would enable him to escape this fate and therefore he preferred to play along proudly and unshaken instead of turning into a sobbing, pathetic mess. It was almost impossible to remain in character though, for the fear at the prospect of the pain he would soon be suffering held his soul in an iron grip.

At the moment he was being pulled into the deepest chambers of the dungeon and all the things he saw were too horrible to even contemplate. The various devices and instruments that were forced into his line of vision made his hands tremble before him and his breath go in ragged gasps, however strong he tried to be.

Who was he kidding, really? He was a prince, so he was proud enough to try and resist, but he was not as ice cold and experienced as life-long warriors. He had never been in a situation like this in his life. He didn't know the first thing about withstanding the gruesome forms of torture that he was sure were about to be inflicted on him.

The two guards dragged Castiel to a seemingly empty spot in the middle of the room where he had full view of all the racks, instruments and chains hanging from the ceiling. As he looked around he realized that they were already trying to intimidate him just with the mere sight of all this.

"Hmm," Castiel flinched at the sound of a thoughtful voice from behind him. "Well, he's less… fleshy than I expected."

The prince along with the guards turned around to gaze upon the middle-aged man who was standing a few feet away from them, analyzing his prey from head to toe. Castiel thought that his clothes looked extremely tidy and a bit too tasteful for the dirty work he was about to do and the expression on his round face was one of casual entertainment.

"There you are," one of the guards said gruffly. "Alistair"-

"Yes, yes, I know," the man responded in a bored tone. "The big guy's finally given me green light on this one, hasn't he?"

Bearing a somewhat intrigued smirk the man strode several steps forward, staring at the young prince. Castiel glared back at him in vicious dislike, effectively hiding his fear.

"Prince Castiel…" he started in a mysterious tone, though everything about him made the prince feel that he was mocking him. "It's an honor, really." He stopped when they were but inches away from each other and continued speaking with his very distinct accent. "The name's Crowley."

Castiel shrugged indifferently. "I don't care."

The man named Crowley put a hand to his chest and let out a mocking gasp. "Feisty," he retorted with an approving nod. "You're getting me all excited!"

He seemed utterly untouched at the prince's hateful glares.

"Well, I was told you were a stubborn one…" He turned away to move toward an empty table that Castiel assumed with a flooding wave of trepidation would not remain vacant for long. "And since it's my job to make you squeal… Let's just say it'll be more fun for the both of us," Crowley concluded, leering at him evilly.

Castiel continued staring at him with all the defiance he could muster, but said nothing in response. If his goal was not to tell them anything, he might as well stop talking now.

"All right, boys," Crowley nodded at the two guards. "String him up!"

. . .

Sam and Dean rode through the forest for hours and hours until they finally managed to locate the little cottage that they believed housed the mentioned pub. The trees around them were already bathed in the glow of twilight; any longer and they would've decided to call it a day and start gathering firewood for the night.

"Wow, can't believe it, Sammy," Dean said approvingly when they were close enough to make out the shabby little house in the clearing before them. "Your nerd book actually did it!"

"You mean I did it," Sam responded with a chuckle. "You're giving the book credit cause you don't wanna admit I was right!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dean grunted and decided to change the subject. He leaned down closer to his horse and patted its damp from exhaustion and pitch-black fur. "Whoa, baby…" he murmured soothingly. "That's right, we made it."

The two brothers both dismounted their horses and put them into a broken down small barn that was attached to the pub's left side. They then proceeded to enter into what at first sight seemed like a large cloud of pipe smoke, the dimmed lights of very few candles and the mixed smells of body odor, tobacco and alcohol. There was a large, wooden bar right near the entrance of the pub along with several shabby tables that were strewn all across the rest of the interior. It wasn't all that crowded, though one or two of the assembled groups were bellowing out quite a load of loud, drunken noises, making it sound like there were far more people here. A few loners sat at otherwise empty tables in the corners or up against the wall, but they were mostly shrouded by darkness and impossible to recognize.

"God, this place is a dive," Dean murmured to his brother. "Sure this is what Bobby meant?"

"Yeah, I am," Sam nodded, trying to make himself heard over the loud, drunken jeering. "Or… I think I am. I mean, there's no other place around here that fits the description."

"Right," Dean responded grumpily. "Great, this'll be fun."

He doubted that anyone of these scumbags in here would know something that could lead them to the abducted prince.

While Sam went to fetch them two pints at the bar, Dean tried to make his way past the loudly celebrating crowd of drunks, which proved to be a lot more difficult than he had expected. As he was trying to shove through, one of the shorter, broader men crashed into him from the side with so much force that it almost knocked him over.

"Hey!" the man exclaimed angrily, his speech slightly slurred from the liquor he had consumed. "Watch where you're going!"

"Yeah?" Dean retorted aggressively. "You watch what you're fucking drinking!"

A second later he found himself knocked back onto the floor by a powerful punch to his jaw. Apparently the guy still had incredibly fast reflexes, despite his drunkenness.

_Bad move, Winchester_, he scolded himself. He couldn't help it, he always went for the bad moves.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" roared the man.

Dean pushed himself up from floor, flexing his jaw slightly. It took all he had to resist the urge to punch back, but he knew better than to get in a bar fight when he was hopelessly outnumbered by the group of people backing this guy up.

"I don't know you," the guy went on provocatively, as if he wanted Dean to fight back. "We don't want you here, take a fucking walk!"

"Hey, chill man," Dean retorted calmly. "Can't a normal guy passing through just enjoy a drink?"

"No, ya can't!" the man declared belligerently. "We don't just let any scumbag in here!"

"Oh yeah, then who let you in?" Dean shot back instantly.

He could see the man's rage pulsating through the thick vein on his neck and he knew this had been a bad move again, but damn did he enjoy it.

"Dean," he heard Sam's disapproving voice from behind him and he knew the cautious and apologetic expression his brother was now displaying without even having to turn around. "Sorry man," Sam said. "We're friends with Bobby Singer."

The name didn't seem to ring a bell with the drunken guy or any of his friends. "Bobby Singer?" he demanded. "I don't know any"-

"Bobby Singer," another voice growled from behind them. This time Dean immediately turned around, brow furrowing skeptically at who this stranger was that knew their uncle. He saw that one of the loners from a back table had risen from his seat and was eying them all with a large portion of dislike. However, despite the displeased growl there was nothing hostile about him, leading the brothers to believe that he meant them no harm.

"Leave 'em be, Ralph, I know him." The drunken man didn't seem at all pleased at this interference, but seemed to respect his older acquaintance enough to back away from Dean and turn back to his friend's table.

Sam and Dean briefly shared an understanding gaze before walking over to the table in the corner where the man had already taken his seat again.

"Thanks," Sam started earnestly.

The older man huffed and directed his attention at Dean instead. "Provoking a group of drunks in a hunter's bar," he growled, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe the stupidity. "What, your daddy never taught you common sense?"

"I – ," Dean aimed to give an angry comeback, but couldn't think of anything. "He – "

"So, you know Bobby," Sam stated, cutting off his brother's attempts to defend himself.

"That's right," the man nodded. "Met him once when he came down on a job. That was a long time ago, though. Before your time, I imagine."

Sam cautiously sat down at the table and Dean followed his example. "I'm Sam Winchester," he introduced himself. "This is my brother, Dean."

"Winchesters, huh?" the man responded with a slight chuckle. "Should have known, you both look the part."

Dean frowned to himself, not knowing if he liked this development. There was this weird reputation thing again. How come did so many people suddenly know who they were?

"Frank Deveraux," the man introduced himself as well.

"Frank?" Sam repeated with a surprised tone. Dean looked at him in confusion wondering if and why he knew about this guy. Nothing about the name seemed to ring a bell with him. "I think Bobby told me about you once," Sam went on, apparently excited at his discovery. "He said you owed him from a while ago."

Frank glared at him, obviously not liking to be reminded of that "Guy saves your life _one_ time, and, what, you owe him the rest of yours?" he growled angrily.

"That's usually how it works, yeah," Dean responded grimly. He had not yet forgiven the guy for offending him before.

Frank glared at Dean and Sam quickly cleared his throat, trying to diffuse the situation. "Do you mind if we ask you a couple questions?" he asked politely. "There are some things you might be able to help us with."

The older man looked back and forth between them for a moment and waved his hand in a careless gesture. "Sure, go ahead," he sighed grumpily, sounding everything but enthusiastic.

After the brothers had shared another brief look of mutual understanding, Sam set out to ask the first question. "Did you hear about prince Castiel?" he said quietly, though that wasn't really necessary. No one would hear their conversation over the cheerfully celebrating crowd.

Frank nodded in response. "Yeah, I heard," he answered, not seeming particularly moved. "Seems those damn angels aren't as all-powerful as they think…"

"Amen to that," Dean chuckled darkly, which earned him an approving grunt from Frank and scolding look from his brother. "Sorry, carry on," he told Sam.

The younger Winchester shook his head in annoyance before turning his attention back to Frank. "Well, we were hoping…" he chose his words carefully. "Maybe you'd know where someone like him would be taken."

Frank stared at him for a long moment, before suddenly leaning forward and slamming his hands down on the table, his expression excited. "No!" he exclaimed laughing. "So it's true! Michael is officially delegating his dirty works to a couple of hunters, who would've thought?"

He laughed again loudly and Dean briefly found himself wondering if this guy really knew something helpful or if they hadn't just happened across an isolated nutjob out in the forest.

"Never thought it would be you, though," Frank huffed, still seeming a bit too amused for Dean. "Tell me, what made you decide to sell your soul to the angel king?"

Sam sighed, sparing a brief glance at his brother, while Dean ground his teeth together angrily. Of course the fucking guy had to hit his fucking _worst_ nerve at the moment!

"Was it the money?" he went on chuckling.

"We got our reasons," Dean retorted with a glare that told Frank to either shut up or expect a flood of violence.

Frank lifted his hands in defense, subduing his own chuckles. "All right, all right," he appeased the two brothers and shrugged. "Me, I would've done it for the money."

Sam waited, keeping a wary eye on his brother to see if the situation had calmed down enough for him to go on with his questions. "We know he was last spotted somewhere not far from here," he then continued. "And Bobby let us know that there are people here who know more about what goes on beyond the border than in other places…"

Frank's face was kept carefully blank as he waited for Sam to elaborate. "So, what do you know?" he asked.

The older man pondered over the question for a moment, raising his glass to take a large gulp of his drink. "Well, I'm not sure how much I can help you," he responded. "I've never seen him pass through anywhere around here, so I've got no idea where they're taking him. I do know of some settlements way beyond the border though."

"Where?" Sam asked eagerly, taking the map which he had brought with him out of his pocket and spreading it on the table. Frank spared it only a brief glance and snorted. "No, you can't use that, boy," he chuckled in amusement. "That shred of paper doesn't go much farther than a few miles over the border."

Sam and Dean shared a discouraged look. "What you need is one of these," Frank went on, pulling a bundle of paper out from under the table and tossing it over to Sam. The younger Winchester caught it with a questioning gaze and started to fold it apart on the table. They pretty soon realized that it was also a map, but on a much larger scale than the one they possessed, showing them rivers and mountains and faraway seas that they had never realized existed outside of their kingdom.

"Dude, look at all the space," Dean murmured in awe. He briefly wondered why it had never occurred to him to just try to leave the kingdom and set up shop somewhere far away where King Michael would no longer be able to reach them. Did the people living in those territories have to pay taxes? It was a very intriguing idea.

"No way to know if it's occupied though. Might be even worse things out there," Frank pointed out, effectively ending Dean's daydreaming.

"Ok," Sam said, staying completely on topic. "So this is where we are…" He pointed his finger at a spot far down south on the map that he had managed to locate as the part of the forest with the pub. "Where are these settlements you were talking about?"

"Well, there are several all around here…" Frank leaned forward circling a region with his finger that lay beyond what looked like a huge array of mountains and forest. "More here up north" – he pointed at another territory further up – "but beyond that I've no idea. Could be several really, it's all unexplored."

Dean stared at the large map, not knowing what to think. He had always known that Michael's kingdom was gigantic, so he had never really expected the world to be so huge even beyond it. It made him feel so horribly insignificant.

"These ones down here though," Frank went on, returning his finger to the first region he had mentioned. "There are some villages but also quite a few hidden castles from what I've heard. Could be any number of enemies regrouping up there, I mean who knows what they're plotting." He chuckled once more as if the thought actually amused him. "Good old Michael is just so damn full of himself!"

"You think they could've taken him here?" Sam asked, his eyes scanning the part of the map in concentration.

"Seems most likely," Frank shrugged. "I don't really know though, so I don't know how much good this'll do you. You'll have to find someone else to point you around there, help you find a castle or something."

"Ok," Sam nodded in understanding. "Thank you."

Dean watched Frank curiously, for he had noticed a rather intrigued look about the man when he had been talking about possible enemies only moments ago. "What do you think is up there?" he wanted to know.

Frank looked at him and smirked. "I don't know," he responded with a light shrug. "I'm just a crazy old man, right, what do I know?"

"Oh, come one," Dean protested. He was getting more and more intrigued himself as he felt that the man obviously knew something he wasn't talking about. "Humor me."

Frank shrugged once again and complied. "Well, there's always the Lucifer legend."

Dean frowned, not really knowing what to make of that for he had never heard that name before.

"Seriously?" Sam responded in a highly disbelieving tone. "Come on, that's crazy!"

"Huh?" Dean asked, annoyed that Sammy once again knew something that he didn't. "What's crazy?"

"You really believe that that might happen?" Sam continued talking to Frank, ignoring his brother. "It's just a bedtime story."

"All bedtime stories originate in truth," Frank responded, raising his brows playfully.

"So you're saying Lucifer still exists?" Sam asked with a look of incredulity on his face.

"Ok, what the hell is this about?" Dean cut in before Frank could respond. "Who the hell is Lucifer?"

Now they were both looking at him as if he was stupid.

"Dean, did you ever listen to a single story when we were kids?" Sam asked in frustration.

"Uh…" Dean frowned, trying to recall where he had been at each of those moments in his childhood. Mostly he had tried to sneak around it and let his father help him with his hunting techniques. John had never given much for history except the basic knowledge that all angels were dicks. "Well, come one, Sammy, they're pretty boring for non-geek kids!"

Sam rolled his eyes and proceeded to explain. "Lucifer was Michael's older brother," he told Dean. "That was before we were even born, when the princes' father was still king." Dean racked his brain, trying to remember what of this information he had heard before. Some of it seemed vaguely familiar but most of it was completely new to him. "The story goes that when their father left… they got into a huge fight over who would take over the kingdom. They almost tore the kingdom apart as a result, but… Michael ended up winning and banished Lucifer out beyond the border, where he died years later."

He gave Frank a pointed look. "That much is _fact_."

"So you're saying the king just left?" Dean repeated. He had known that Michael's father had been king before him, but he had always figured that the guy had died of old age or something. "Who does that? Why?"

"Nobody knows," Frank answered. "A lot of stories say that his children tried to find him for years, but never succeeded."

"But that makes no sense!" Dean frowned in confusion. "If you're saying this happened before we were born… Sam, you saw how fucking young Michael was! The dude can't be much older than we are, how the hell is that even possible?"

"That's cause angels don't age the same way we do, moron," Frank snorted. "At least not all of them."

Dean's eyes narrowed at the insult, but decided to let it go since he still wanted to know more about this legend the two had been arguing about.

"So that's fact," he repeated Sam's words. "Then what's this legend you were talking about?"

Sam sighed. "It's nothing really," he responded. "It's just this scary legend that people used to tell each other… it says that Lucifer is still somewhere out there, marshalling his forces, plotting his revenge. It predicts some kind of dark age when he will take back the whole kingdom and blah blah blah. It's just a story."

"Oh, you mean like all those ghost 'stories' that we hear?" Dean asked skeptically, raising his fingers to make air quotation marks. "Yeah, cause those are never true."

"This is different, Dean!" Sam insisted. "We're talking about some big-bad-devil legend that people are told to keep them in line. I'll bet you everything I have that Michael is the one who came up with that legend."

Frank eyed him with a look of unabashed amusement. "Hmm, there are others who would beg to differ." He leaned over to Dean. "The last war the kingdom saw, the enemy of that time… They were soldiers wearing the devil's symbol, people calling themselves the demon-people, Lucifer's people."

"Yes and they were defeated," Sam retorted with an exasperated sigh. "Proving that that was nothing more than propaganda on their part. There was no supernaturally evil force behind them, it was just a hostile army trying to take over the kingdom."

Frank shrugged. "If you say so."

Dean looked back and forth between them, amused at how frustrated his brother seemed to be by Frank's conspiratorial views. He had to agree with Sammy though, Frank did seem kind of paranoid.

"So what you're basically saying…" Dean tried gathering their argument from before. "Is that the people in these settlements, the ones who could've taken the prince are subjects to a mysteriously risen Lucifer?"

He saw Sam smirk out of the corner of his eye, because when you worded it like that, Frank's theory did seem highly ridiculous. The man wasn't really bothered by it though, he simply shrugged again. "Hey, you can believe what you want," he said indifferently. "Just don't say I didn't warn you."

He chuckled and took another swig of his drink, before looking back down at the map that was still spread on the table.

"All I can tell you is that that up there is a place where it would make sense to bring a prisoner," he told them. "But other than that, you're on your own."

The brothers both nodded in agreement. "Understood."

At least it was a start.


	6. PART I: Chapter 6

_**A/N:** Here I am with a new chapter haha... can't really say much about this one except that I'm starting to utilize my T-rating ;) Enjoy!_

_Unbetad, so sorry for errors._

* * *

**PART I**

**Chapter 6**

"Hurry up, would you?" Dean yelled back to his brother. "I'm fucking freezing up here!"

Even if he was more than annoyed at Dean for complaining every two seconds, Sam couldn't really argue with him about that. The weather had become more and more unbearable the further they had travelled up into the mountains.

It had been days since they left the small pub where Frank had given them the map they were now trying to follow. The first nights had been just bearable enough for them to sleep through, but he felt that now they would need to keep going until they had descended down to warmer or more protected heights or they would freeze to death during the night.

The crinkled map in one hand and his horse's reins in the other, Sam followed his brother up the narrow path along the side of the mountain. At a certain point they had both had to dismount their horses and lead them further on foot because the route was too dangerous for them to navigate otherwise. Thankfully they hadn't reached the right height for snow yet, but if they kept ascending for much longer they would probably soon be facing that problem as well.

"Sam, are you growing fucking roots down there?" Dean shouted, displaying his impatience again and Sam glared at him angrily.

"Excuse me for wanting to know where we're going, Dean!" he yelled back, holding the map up to his face to study it as best he could in the strongly blowing wind.

"Sammy, cut the crap!" the older Winchester roared over the wind and Sam asked himself why he simply didn't come closer again so they could avoid all this yelling back and forth. "You stopped knowing where we're going about two hours ago!"

Sam looked up at him, wearing an incredulous expression. "What?"

"I know when you're lying to me, dude!" Dean insisted loudly. "You have no idea, admit it!"

Sam sighed and looked back at the map, swearing under his breath. He hated to admit it, but his brother was right; he had tried to figure out where they were going for quite some time now, but the map was very difficult to read for someone who was used to the much smaller scope of the kingdom.

"Then why the hell didn't you say anything?" Sam bellowed back angrily.

Dean couldn't resist showing a short triumphant smirk at his brother's defeat. "Cause I've got a good feeling about this road!" he yelled over the wind. Sam suddenly felt the urge to laugh, as he realized that every person within a one-mile radius of them could probably hear their shouting match.

"Dean, I'm not gonna risk my neck by not knowing where we are just because you've got a _good feeling_!"

Even over the loud wind Sam thought he could hear his brother groan in frustration. "It's instinct, ok?" he yelled. "Fuck, just trust me for once, Sammy!"

The _for once_ was a bit overdramatic in Sam's opinion, for Dean knew very well that his brother always trusted him. But he decided to play along with it and sighed dramatically, until he realized that Dean probably couldn't hear that. So he gripped his horse's reins tightly and started leading it on up the road toward his brother, which seemed to satisfy the older Winchester.

They kept going like this for a long while, working their way up toward the nearest mountain pass where Dean insisted they had to find a way. Sam had only seldom in his life been as unbelievably cold as he was now; even his warmest clothes, which he had brought in preparation for the long journey weren't enough to shield him. Dean encouraged all of them to keep going as well as they could, repeatedly murmuring soothing words of comfort to his horse and giving his brother a verbal kick in the ass.

Eventually they managed to climb all the way up to the pass and started to make their way over it. There were little to no refuges from the raging wind and Sam soon decided to pack away his map to avoid losing it over the edge of the mountain. The two of them both held up their arms to shield their faces as best they could, but Dean's horse had a tendency to be stubborn and noncompliant when it didn't approve of something, so he experienced some trouble in trying to get it to move forward. It was only because the hunter had such a close relationship to his animal that he managed to get it moving at all; Sam was sure that no one else could've achieved such a thing with her.

It took them a lot of strength, but after what seemed like hours they had reached the other side of the pass and caught a glimpse down into a long, densely forested valley.

"There's trees down there!" Sam said in relief. They would be able to find some shelter from the weather there.

"Huh, huh?" Dean nudged him in the shoulder playfully, grinning in self-satisfaction. "What did I tell you?"

"Well, we still don't know if we're going in the right direction," Sam pointed out begrudgingly and his brother rolled his eyes. "But, yeah, it's not a bad start."

"Heh-heh, that's good enough for me," Dean chuckled in sly amusement as they started to descend toward the forest.

The way down was even more difficult to manage for their horses than the ascent had been, so it took them quite some time to navigate themselves along the narrow pathways. It didn't help either that the wind was blowing harder than ever on this side, but the prospect of refuge among the trees kept Sam determined to move along and so within a few more hours they had made it down to the edge of the forest.

"All right, this should work," Sam murmured to himself, pulling out the map again as soon as they had slipped in between the trees.

"Again with frickin' map, Sammy?" Dean piped up, but Sam ignored him, his brow furrowing in concentration while he went over the south area of the map once again. He quickly found the spot where he had last known where they were, but the whole span of mountains was incredibly confusing.

Dean silently walked beside him and after a while Sam almost decided to give up, when he suddenly spotted an array of mountains inside the chaos of unknown landscapes that was set before a long patch of forest.

"I got it, Dean," he said excitedly, showing his brother the spot on the map. "This is where we are right now, we must've come through these mountains here…" And he gestured along the lines where he estimated the pass must be.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Dean agreed, frowning at the map and Sam was surprised that he seemed to be taking the assessments extremely seriously. "But dude, look at that" – he ran his finger along the valley and to the end of the mountain range where the forest seemed to sprawl out in all directions, covering a vast and endless amount of space beyond the borders of Michael's kingdom – "how the hell are we supposed to find our way through to the settlements Frank was talking about?"

Sam considered his brother's thoughts for a moment and then sighed, for he had no idea what to answer him. Dean was right; they would be having an incredibly hard time finding their way through all of this unknown territory. He was almost sure now that their decision to set out for the mission right away had been far too rash.

He was just about to voice his concerns to Dean. "What if"-

But Dean suddenly held up his hand in a silent warning and Sam immediately stopped talking. He shot his brother a questioning gaze and Dean answered with an expression that he knew only too well.

_Don't move, there's something out there_!

After spending all their life by each other's sides, the two brothers were capable of leading entire conversations without saying a single word.

Sam instantly shifted his stance and warily gazed around at the surrounding trees. They had entered the forest quite a while ago, so the possibilities of retreating back up the mountain were slim at best.

Dean nodded to his brother and soundlessly reached to his side to pull a long, slightly curved blade from his belt. At first Sam hadn't been sure, but now he realized what the older Winchester had noticed, for he too could hear the distant rustling sounds in the thicket. If he wasn't mistaken he could even make out a predatory growl that was almost lost in the dimmed sounds of the wind above them.

His horse tensed behind him and he knew that it wouldn't be long until its instinct to flee set in. He shot his brother a gaze that said _what do we do_? And Dean grimly nodded forward and stared ahead into the trees, blade at the ready.

When a loud and ferocious roar suddenly sounded out, both of their horses reared up and whinnied frantically as Sam had anticipated. They both tried to hold onto the reins and Dean was loudly speaking to his animal, trying to get it to calm down, but it was no use. Soon the two of them had broken free and ran off into the forest.

"Uraeus!" Sam yelled, trying to call his horse back as Dean swore loudly.

"Dammit!" Dean growled angrily and they both glanced at each other and at their surroundings as they were now left on their own.

Not a moment later a second roar could be heard and Sam was astounded to hear that it sounded part… _human_. What the hell was going on here? Before he had time to further think about it, something leaped out at them from the bushes and the two brothers jumped apart to get out of the way.

Sam whipped around, brandishing his own blade and he just barely caught a glimpse of the human-looking body of a man who had extended a full set of sharp, deadly teeth, before Dean swung out his dagger with his full strength, sending the creature's head tumbling to the ground. The lifeless corpse collapsed soon after and the brothers shared a brief glance of shock over what had just happened.

"Vampires!" Sam breathed out as he shifted his stance, looking around to see if there were any more coming.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean growled, but he barely had time to regroup, before two more of the predators attacked them out of the thicket. Sam saw him immediately swing out his dagger again, but this time he wasn't fast enough. The growling vampire tackled him and pushed him onto the ground, though he kicked out to get him off of himself and rolled back to try and get back some form of advantage.

Sam ducked out of the way when the other vampire charged him and lashed out with his blade. His adversary leapt back, missing the sharp sword only by a few inches and then dropped to the ground to swing out his foot, sweeping Sam's legs out from under him. Before he had a chance to regroup, the vampire was on top of him and all he could do was push his hands up into its shoulders, channeling whatever strength he had into making sure that those vicious, razor sharp teeth would not reach him.

The creature was very strong however and after a few moments Sam was horrified to feel his own strength faltering. He groaned loudly in an effort to push the vampire off of himself, but it would not give. He had no idea where Dean was and how he was doing against the other vampire, but he knew that their chances were not very good.

"Sam!" he heard Dean yell in desperation.

For a dreadful moment Sam thought he could feel his hands give and the predator's teeth come toward him, but suddenly it was gone, ripped off of him and flung to the side in less than a moment. The younger Winchester coughed, his hand clutching his throat that he hadn't even realized was being constricted in all his panic and rolled over expecting to see Dean fighting the remaining vampire.

But it wasn't Dean. Dean was still over by a group of trees, wrestling with his own creature. Right next to him Sam could see the figure of another man tackling the vampire that had almost managed to kill him. The two of them wrestled for a few seconds, but the newcomer clearly held the upper hand. Sam was just about to grab his sword and come to the man's aid, when their positions shifted and he could suddenly see the guy's face.

He froze dead in his tracks as he looked upon the further set of deadly vampire teeth. From the short gaze it cast his way, Sam knew the third vampire had seen his startled gaze, but it didn't hesitate to swing its long, jagged weapon and kill its opponent.

Sam could only stare, while he heard the promising slice that let him know Dean had just defeated his adversary as well. His brother panted behind him and then came to a stop by his side, looking from him to the third vampire still standing over its dead companion.

The vampire slowly retracted its teeth and looked at them, leaving the two brothers stunned on the spot.

"What the hell?" Dean demanded.

. . .

A strained groan escaped Castiel's throat at the renewed sensation of searing pain in his lower abdomen. One might think that after the hundredth time of inflicting pain on the same spot, that part of the body might simply grow used to the maltreatment or numb to all feeling. But that wasn't the case; if anything, it got worse with every time.

He could feel the burning and the blistering and the blood seeping out of the abused part of flesh on his body, as the man before him dragged the gleaming, red-hot poker over his belly with almost academic interest. The pain coming from the tight shackles around his wrists that raised his arms above his head and attached him to the ceiling, offered an almost welcome distraction to the horrid forms of agony inflicted on the rest of him. His upper body had been stripped of all clothing and was now being slowly distorted, presenting itself as the canvas on which his torturer could perform his craft.

While Castiel panted, leaning his head against his right arm during the short respite, Crowley lifted the still gleaming poker up near his face and gazed back and forth between it and the wound he had just intensified.

"Hmm," he said to himself with a slight shrug. "Think the last one worked better, wouldn't you say?"

Castiel stared at him and the poker with nothing but naked dread and despair, for his defiance had long since started crumbling within him. When Crowley had passed out of his line of sight and over to the stove, which he knew held more instruments of different shapes and sizes, he briefly hanged his head, sagging in his chains in exhaustion.

He couldn't do this any longer. This was only the second day and it already felt like he had been going through this for years. Frankly he was amazed at himself for having held on this long.

He had noticed right from the start that Crowley had his very own distinct way of handling this. This wasn't a matter of breaking him as soon as possible and forcing him to say something, anything. No, the torture master was very much taking his time, starting off slowly as he had yesterday and increasing the intensity of the torment with each new session, making the horror of anticipation and the stretch over a long period of time as much a part of the torture as the actual pain.

And why shouldn't he? He had time after all; it wasn't like Castiel was going anywhere. It wasn't like there was anyone in his immediate proximity that could come to his aid and get him out of this living hell. Castiel had lost all hope of rescue the moment he had set foot in the foreign castle. If they had not found him while he was being dragged through the wilderness an entire week, they certainly would not find him now. He was well and truly on his own.

"Ah, that's better…" Crowley announced in self-satisfaction as he walked over to his victim again, holding a poker in his hand that was viciously twisted at the end. He wiped one of his hands on his white apron to get rid of the grime that handling the pokers had caused him.

"Offers a more interesting touch, don't you think?" Crowley went on, bringing the smoldering iron up close to Castiel's face.

"Burn in hell," Castiel spat, but he was unable to hide the fear from his eyes as he gazed upon the hot instrument.

Crowley gave a slight shrug, while an almost pleasant smirk crept across his face. "That's your fun park, mate," he said indifferently. "Not mine."

_No_. Castiel weakly shook his head in silent desperation, when his tormentor brought the weapon down to his upper body once again, pausing for a short moment with a thoughtful expression on his face.

He couldn't do this.

But he had to. He had already failed his brothers and his father by letting himself get taken. He could not jeopardize the kingdom and everything they had all struggled to build simply by giving in to his own weakness.

When the red-hot, dreadfully twisted iron was brutally plunged into his flesh, Castiel couldn't stop himself from screaming out loud in agony.

Crowley was right. This one was much more effective.

. . .

The moment of silence hovered on as the two brothers stared at the vampire before them, who had just saved their life.

If Dean hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it. He had crossed paths with quite a few vampires in his time and none of them had lived to tell the tale. Vampires didn't do good, they didn't help people. They were vicious, blood-sucking animals that didn't care about anything except the kill.

At least that was what he had believed until now.

"What?" the vampire asked with a light chuckle. "No thanks fer saving your hide?" His words instantly displayed his drawling and extremely broad-speaking accent.

"Sure," Dean responded aggressively, raising the long blade to emphasize his words. "I won't shove this up your ass."

"Dean," Sam said quietly, trying to calm his brother. Neither of them were sure what this vampire was up to, he felt it would be best not to provoke it further.

The vampire seemed oddly relaxed despite Dean's threats. Usually the creatures would leer at them, taunt them, try to catch them off guard. Not this one though. It looked at them with a strangely knowing and calculating gaze. "Mm," it started again. "Awful strange way to punch yer meal ticket, friend."

Dean's brow furrowed of its own accord at the vampire's words. _Friend._ No fucking bloodsucker called him a friend!

"I got somethin' you need," it said invitingly as it started to pace back and forth before its deceased companion. It was like it knew that now that it had raised the brothers' interest, it wasn't in any immediate danger.

"Yeah?" Dean chuckled darkly. "What's that?" He felt Sam shift carefully beside him; the younger Winchester had remained silent for most of the time.

"A way out," the vampire offered, smirking almost triumphantly at the upper hand it now thought it held.

The two brothers exchanged a quick glance, though neither of them lowered their weapons. Dean realized that Sammy also didn't really know what the thing was talking about. Was it referring to the endless amounts of forest that they had seen on the map? Was it offering to show them a way to the other side?

"A way out of what?" Sam demanded suspiciously.

"Nah, don't bother, Sammy," Dean said before the vampire had a chance to respond, his eyes resting firmly on his prey once again. "He's probably just trying to lure us to more of his buddies." He smirked at the pacing vampire. "Ain't that right, hotshot?"

"But then why would he have saved us?" Sam murmured quietly, knowing that the vampire could still hear them but still wanting to convey his worries to Dean. It just didn't make any sense.

"I don't know," Dean shrugged. "Territory thing?"

To his surprise the vampire before him chuckled. "If you don't feel like crossin' paths with more of my kind," he said slowly. "Yer gonna have to stick with me even more. Otherwise you'll be sittin' ducks real fast."

A sense of devouring and horrifying dread had started to work its way up Dean's body at the vampire's words. He immediately tried to shake it off, for he hated when this happened more than anything. He was Dean Winchester, he didn't do scared. He was the thing that monsters got scared of. What the hell had they walked into here?

"Please don't tell me we walked right into friggin' vampire-territory!" he growled angrily at the creature, resisting the urge to shift his gaze and make sure there was no one else watching them. He was afraid that if he took his eyes off this thing for one second, it would instantly go for the kill.

The vampire chuckled once again and spread his arms in a demonstrating gesture. "You walked into _everythin_'-territory, brother," he announced. "And there's some much nastier folk than vampires out there, you can be damn sure of that."

Again the brothers shared a gaze of mutual unease. It seemed they really had maneuvered themselves into an impossible situation here.

"We call these woods the Purgatory," the vampire went on explaining, gazing casually up toward the thick roof of leaves while he kept on pacing. "This is where every outcast and banished soul flees for cover once it's in danger of bein' stoned. And yer both gonna be man-meat for every Tom, Dick and Harry… unless" – and he smirked again in self-satisfaction – "someone leads you out."

Dean continued glaring at the vampire, for he didn't want to believe any of the twisted words that were coming out of its mouth for one second. Sammy was right, it had saved their lives, but he just couldn't see the reason why a creature like this would come to their aid.

"So you just want to guide us out of this… Purgatory out of the goodness of your undead heart?" Sam asked in disbelief, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he took a threatening step closer to the vampire.

"More or less," it responded with a slight grin.

"What's in it for you?" Sam demanded sharply. Neither of them expected the vampire to even give them an answer, because whatever it wanted, it couldn't be good.

But instead of the expected vagueries, the vampire stopped its pacing and looked the hunter straight in the eye. "I'm hopin' for some pay-back."

Dean was momentarily stunned, for this was not what he had expected at all. "What?" he said dumbly.

"I know what yer after…" the vampire emphasized every word, as if it was enjoying the fact that the two brother's were now listening so closely. "What if I told you I saw 'em come through here less than a week ago?"

Dean noticed from the corner of his eye that Sam had lowered his sword, all wariness instantly resolved at the prospect of the huge break the vampire was offering them. "I can show you where they're at…" it suggested intriguingly. "Consider it payback against the jackasses who dumped us all out here to rot. That's what's in it fer me."

The older Winchester was faced with an internal struggle, not really knowing if the motives the vampire named made sense to him or not. From what he was letting on, he apparently knew where the prince had been taken, but why would helping them get there equal as payback to him? He was almost certain that there was some further motive here that the guy was not telling them about.

Still feeling uneasy at the fact that his brother had lowered his guard, Dean glared at the creature, not wanting to believe him. "And how do we know this isn't a set-up?" he demanded and gestured around at the carcasses of the dead vampire lying on the forest ground. "How do we know we ain't gonna end up like your friends here?"

The vampire shrugged nonchalantly in response, considering his deceased companions with a short glance. "They_ were_ my friends," he declared. "Now _you_ are." He shot a bold grin in Dean's direction. "First rule of Purgatory, kid. You can't trust nobody."

"You just asked us to trust you," Sam pointed out with a suspicious frown, his sword now slightly higher again, indicating his internal debate.

"Ya see?" the vampire said, tilting his head slightly to the side while his face lit up in anticipation. "Yer gettin' it now."

Sam looked back at Dean and the older Winchester almost felt the urge to laugh at his expression, for Sammy was so obviously not happy at being outsmarted. They continued staring at each other and then back at the vampire, leading one of their non-verbal conversations to decide what they should do.

"How can we be sure that you really know where they took him?" Sam asked in a final step, therefore hinting at their positive decision despite the suspicious inquiry.

"Hey," the vampire responded with another shrug, shouldering his long weapon. "Yer either in… or yer out."


	7. PART I: Chapter 7

_**A/N:** Hey guys, I am so sorry my updates have gotten so much less frequent, university is really taking up basically all of my time right now and I hope you understand why studying takes absolute priority haha... As you can see I'm still writing though haha so I'm not gonna stop on any of my stories, it just might take me a little more time between updates. So that's all haha, hope you enjoy this one :)_

_Unbetad, so sorry for errors._

* * *

**PART I**

**Chapter 7**

"No," Castiel panted breathlessly, trying to force his brain to keep functioning on a level other than the indescribable pain emanating from his dangerously strained limbs.

Crowley's face remained largely indifferent, except for a slight twitch of his brow that indicated an increased level of interest. "Sorry, what was that?" he said casually while continuously raising the pressure on his victim's limbs. "Didn't quite hear you there."

Gritting his teeth and face distorted from pain, Castiel refused to respond, knowing perfectly well that Crowley was provoking him with his taunting, trying to break through his crumbling façade wherever he could. The days were starting to blend together into one giant stretch of agony and he couldn't seem to remember ever having existed without the constant pain. The wood of the rack that Crowley currently had him strapped to was digging into his back with every strain and his limbs were being stretched in opposite directions.

"Oh, come on," Crowley complained playfully while carrying on with his torture process. "Thought we were finally starting to work together!" He chuckled smugly to himself and walked around Castiel's spread out body to the other side of the rack, apparently deciding to keep the pressure on the same level for a moment.

Castiel tried to not react to his tormentor's challenging quips, but at this point he was beyond any capability of self-control. The heavy breathing that was escaping his mouth sounded incredibly far away, as if it didn't even belong to him. Every time the occasional moan mixed in with his breathing, Crowley's brow seemed to twitch again with the faintest hint at interest.

"Go on," he said mockingly. "I'm listening."

"W…" The words almost didn't cross his lips, he was so incapacitated by the pain. "Why are you… why…"

Crowley sighed in something that could only be described as annoyance. "Now why are you gonna go and ask me something that foolish?" he asked disapprovingly. "You know why I'm doing this and you know it's not gonna stop until you decide to squawk, ok?" He had now bent down over his victim and was looking him straight in the face. "Your choice, mate."

In an almost compulsory movement Castiel shook his head over and over in protest of everything. He tried to close his eyes to even out his breathing, but the lack of vision made the pain even worse. "I –" he choked out in a strangled voice. "I don't even know… w-what I'm supposed to say…"

"Oh, you can start out with anything, really," Crowley shrugged. "Childhood memories, adult sweethearts… I'll even do my best to help you through family problems." He smirked in self-satisfaction at his joke. "After this you'll have quite a lot of those on your plate."

Castiel kept on shaking his head vainly, trying to make himself come to his senses beneath all the mindnumbing pain. No, he couldn't give in, he wouldn't. He couldn't tell them anything, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how unbearable the alternative was.

After a few moments of stubborn silence, Crowley shrugged to himself again and moved back to the controls on the rack, apparently having decided that the conversation wouldn't be going any further.

An agonized moan sounded through the dungeon as he resumed his activity of increasing the pressure.

. . .

The dry forest leaves crackled underneath Sam's feet as they slowly but surely moved through the thicket.

The vampire, who had introduced himself to them as Benny was leading them up ahead with Dean following closely behind him, stubbornly wanting to control his every move to make sure that he wasn't double-crossing them.

Thanks to Dean both their horses were now walking quietly behind their owners, for the older hunter had not wanted to hear any of Benny's suggestions of just forgetting about them and moving on. "Say it," he had growled, before the sentence had even fully come out of the vampire's mouth. "And I will kill you, your children and your grandchildren!" Benny had subsequently sighed in defeat and agreed to help track them down first.

Sam had understood the vampire's reasoning that it was much safer for them to just keep moving as fast as possible without any detours that could lead them into dangerous territory, but since he knew that Dean wouldn't be hearing any of it, he hadn't interfered in the discussion. Dean had always been very stubborn when it came to his horse, for she was his closest companion next to his brother. Her name was Empala, which basically meant "faithful" in the traditional, long-forgotten language of the common folk in their kingdom, and she had been by his side practically all his life.

His own horse Henry was a treasured and valuable companion to him as well, as the two of them had lived through some of his most troubling adventures together, but Sam didn't think his attachment to the animal would ever grow as great as the bond Dean shared with his.

They had been traveling through the forest for quite a number of days now. Benny continuously lead them through new and confusing parts of the realm and even though he still wasn't sure they could trust him, Sam found himself truly grateful that he was here. They would never have been able to find their way through this place on their own. Benny mostly kept to the wild and random thicket of the trees and avoided pre-built roads, though Sam wasn't sure if there even _were_ roads in a forest like this. The paths he chose were derived from a desire to both keep them out of harm's way and track the route that their targets had come along. Fortunately Benny was very good at both of these tasks.

The first night of settling down to rest would've been quite hilarious if their lives weren't on the line every second they spent in this unknown forest. Dean had been blatantly obvious in demonstrating that he was sleeping with his favorite dagger in his immediate reach and had been openly pissed at the fact that the vampire seemed to be amused. Sam had silently watched as Benny and his brother had needled each other back and forth until Dean had finally put out a gruff order that Sammy was to take the first shift and he would be up three hours later to relieve him.

"Ain't you forgettin' 'bout somethin'?" Benny had asked with a slight chuckle.

"No," Dean had responded in a hostile voice. "Not gonna happen, you are not keeping watch over us!"

"Why not?" Benny had wondered, shrugging idly.

"Cause I don't trust you not to eat us in our sleep!" Dean had shot back aggressively, effectively ending all conversation on the matter.

The vampire had shrugged once more indifferently and settled in leaning against a tree beside them. Sam thought that both he and Benny knew that Dean was only being stubborn, for it wouldn't make sense for a vampire to kill his own comrades to save their lives only to later kill them in their sleep. But he figured if it made his brother feel more in control of the situation, who was he to deny him that?

Although Dean made sure to keep tabs on Benny at all times, the vampire had so far not once given them a reason not to trust him. Not only had he saved their lives initially, but also several times along the way. So far he had managed to keep them out of harm's way as well as he could and they had only encountered further hostile creatures twice. Sam didn't like thinking it, but he suspected that they'd probably be dead by now if they didn't have someone to lead them around all the danger.

They'd been pounced by a second group of vampires only a day ago and Benny and Dean had both fought with equal belligerence, while Sam had a hard time trying to keep their horses calm, or at least calm enough that they wouldn't have to spend another day looking for them. Despite their constant needling of each other, he had noticed a strange sort of understanding that his brother and the vampire shared during combat, completing each other's moves, coordinating their advances and fighting the danger back to back.

If Benny truly was who he was claiming to be, they had really lucked out in meeting him.

"No tracks through there," Dean remarked and Sam saw him pointing out ahead at a group of bushes with his dagger. "Should be safe." He looked over at the vampire's and frowned skeptically. "You sure you won't lose the trail if we go through here?"

"I'm sure," Benny confirmed with a slight hint of amusement. It obviously wasn't bothering him that Dean was double-checking his every move. " Dean, I've been roamin' this godforsaken batch of trees for the last ten years of my life… Yer safe with me."

"We'll see about that," Dean retorted grimly.

The two of them headed into the denser part of the forest they had chosen as their route and Sam followed closely behind them. "You have any idea where we're going yet?" Dean then wanted to know, looking at the vampire walking next to him.

"Got a few ideas," Benny nodded. "Too early to tell though."

"So you're saying there are lots of places he could be?" Dean went on.

Benny nodded once more in response. "Yeah, got a few settlements in the direction we're headin'. Chances are he could be in one of the Lord's houses up there, but… yer gonna have to see for yourself."

"Lord's houses?" Dean repeated with a frown. "What the hell are those?"

"Oh, just them rich jackasses who think they run shop over there…" Benny chuckled bitterly. Even though he tried to play it off, his dislike for them was obvious.

Dean nodded and looked ahead into the forest again, as if he was trying to assess the exact direction. "Our informant says there are some isolated places on the other side of the forest," he pointed out, apparently remembering Frank's map. "You know castles and such. Think the trail could be leading there?"

Benny gave him a long look before answering, seeming as though he was trying to figure out what Dean was doing. "Come on," he chuckled once more amicably. "Yer so worried that I'll double-cross y'all that you wanna try and follow the trail yourself?"

Dean didn't react in the slightest, but held the vampire's stare decisively. Sam mentally prepared himself for a standoff between the two, but he soon noticed that he needn't have worried, for Benny didn't seem to be in a fighting mood at all.

"Trust me, it's gonna be damn nasty, brother," he said calmly. "I know you don't like me sayin' it, but… It's gonna be a cold day in hell before you make it outta here alone."

Dean sighed begrudgingly, but gave no further response. When the three of them continued their journey through the forest, Sam thought that that was the end of it, but only a short while later his brother started speaking again.

"Why are you really doing this?" he asked quietly. Benny gave him a surprised look. "Come on, man," Dean went on. "You don't expect me to believe this _vengeance for exile_-crap, do you?"

The vampire gazed at Dean for a long time, which lead the older hunter to believe that he was right. "Why are you helping us?" he asked again.

For a moment it almost seemed like Benny would respond, but then he gave a slight shrug and spoke, "It's true."

And with that he moved along, leaving the two brothers to exchange a quick meaningful glance before following him deeper into the forest.

. . .

He could not do this anymore. It was just too much.

Reality was slowly melting away and plunging him into a red-hot, paralyzing, ever-lasting world of pain. By now nothing else really existed to him anymore; nothing mattered. There was nothing on this earth besides him and the pain.

After hours and hours (or maybe even days, for he was in no situation to be keeping track of time) of being hung from the ceiling, there was nothing else to occupy his thoughts other than his desire to make it _stop_. His wrists that at first had endured a tearing, eroding and devouring sort of pain, now felt ablaze with excruciating torment. His shoulders ached with a pain that he would never have thought imaginable and there was nothing he could do about. Crowley had placed him here with his wicked smile an eternity ago and just left him with nothing else.

A long while ago he had been so desperate and at the end of his rope that he had started thrashing around in his chains, screaming for help and for mercy because he didn't know what else to do. He had stopped soon after, when he had realized that fighting his bonds only made it worse. It was like he was accelerating the process of the metal manacles gnawing through his flesh and his bones; at least that was what it felt like. A small and bizarre flicker of hope had made him anticipate a moment when the pain and the pressure would grow so enormous that his wrists would simply grow numb and dead and he wouldn't have to feel anything anymore. But he had been wrong. There was no blissful moment of numbness for his body; if anything the pain just grew larger and larger with each passing hour.

The pain wasn't even the worst part of the torment. As time went by excruciatingly slow, he felt his mind slowly growing more affected and influenced by the feelings in his body. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that the unendurable agony was starting to make him insane. No doubt this was also one of Crowley's desired side-effects.

The need for everything to stop grew so powerful that he was becoming more delusional with every minute. He had hoped and internally begged for someone to finally enter the room and release him of his misery and the longer he waited, the more his mind started playing tricks on him. By now he was looking up, thinking that he had heard something several times a minute. Every sound, every clank, every creak made him desperately look up and stare toward the door, hoping that it would finally be over. He was fairly certain that most of these sounds only originated in his imagination, because no one came; no one ever came.

At this point he was completely beyond pride or resistance or anything else that had once mattered to him. He felt like he would beg and plea to anyone who came to just make it all _stop_. But no one came; no one ever came. The isolation was as much a part of the torture as the actual pain.

For the life of him, he could not think of anything he had ever done in his existence that made him deserve this living hell. After what seemed like days and days he started sobbing silently, murmuring apologies and begging for forgiveness for whatever sins he had committed because surely nothing could be so horrible as to make him deserve all this pain. There was no man, commoner, beast or soul that should ever have to endure such agony.

Castiel cried and begged and prayed and sobbed for forgiveness, for absolution, but nothing happened. So he helplessly watched as the last flicker of hope burned out within his body and joined the fires of hell rising up to consume him.

And then everything suddenly went quiet and calm and the world started drifting away.

_BANG._

Castiel's body hardly flinched at the loud sound of the door slamming open, for his mind was too lost in all the pain to return back to reality and alertness so suddenly.

As he noticed a blurry, dark figure approaching him, he blearily wondered when his eyesight had decided to give up on him. It seemed to have drained away and dedicated its full attention to the unimaginable pain, as had every other part of his body.

"Rise and shine, prince," a familiar voice penetrated his mostly useless senses. Recognition only served to enlarge his desperation. Crowley was back. "And how are we feeling today?"

He took a few steps over to the wall of the room and before Castiel knew what was happening, the chains gave way and he sagged down onto his knees, aching arms lying uselessly beside him. As his eyesight slowly started to clear up, he could soon see all the ghastly red color on his wrists, the blood appearing beneath the manacles from the inhuman pressure they had applied for hours and hours and it made him feel sick. He gingerly moved his fingers, but couldn't detect any other feeling in them than the perception of pain.

Castiel flinched when he suddenly realized that Crowley had kneeled down next to him, for he had been too distracted by his own horror to notice what was going on around him.

The torture master studied his victim for a short moment before speaking. "Ready to make it stop yet?"

Castiel looked down at his quivering hands and tried to scratch up some tiny amount of resistance that he knew he no longer possessed. He couldn't talk, he just couldn't, however much he wanted it to stop. He had promised himself not to talk, but he couldn't do it anymore. Despair spread within him.

"You're a monster," he breathed out hoarsely.

"Thank you," Crowley responded lightly." I pride myself with that, actually."

The horror and dread was temporarily pushed away by the naked hatred boiling beneath his skin as he looked into the smirking man's face. It made him feel better, like he still had some purpose left other than feeling pain. "When my brother finds out what you're doing to me"-

"He'll be what?" Crowley instantly interrupted his moment of defiance. "Put out? I'm quaking, really." He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. "Your bloody king's so ignorant to what's been happening out here, he'll never even be able to find you."

"What _has_ been happening out here?" Castiel asked in a low voice, hoping to keep his tormentor distracted from his goal for as long as possible.

"Ah, wrong answer, mate," Crowley chuckled, shaking his head as if to scold him. "Your opportunity's going once… going twice…"

"No! Wait, please!" Castiel cried out when the man attempted to rise from the ground again. His brief moment of resistance disappeared as quickly as it had came and all that he could think about was his desperate need to not feel anymore pain.

Crowley's victorious smile was more than he could take, but at least it sufficed to keep him there a little while longer. "Yes?" he said. "I'm listening?"

Castiel shook his head at the horror of the decision he was supposed to make. "I…" he choked out desperately. "I"- Until this moment he hadn't noticed that there were tears streaming down his face.

"Cas, Cas, Cas…" Crowley sighed, putting a hand onto his aching shoulder. "It's not gonna work like this. No stalling. You talk or I torture. That's the deal."

He could not take this, he could not do this anymore. The fear eating his insides had grown to astronomic proportions and he felt his entire body shaking. "No, please… I…" He was on the verge of giving in and he knew it and Crowley knew it and he had to, because he could not do this anymore. He could not endure this kind of pain any longer.

_No_, he couldn't, he couldn't. His brother and his kingdom was all he served, all he lived for. He could not survive his own betrayal of everything he believed in.

"I can't…" she shook his head weakly. "I can't."

Crowley watched him closely for a short moment, before shrugging indifferently. "Option B it is."

"No!" Castiel cried loudly as Crowley rose to his feet. "No, please, don't, please"-

"This hurts you more than it hurts me," Crowley said casually, walking over to the chains that were attached to the wall. "So I can go on forever."

"No," Castiel sobbed desperately. "No, no, don't, please, don't"-

"Which, well with your age, means…" Crowley reached to grip the chains in his hands.

"Please!"

"Forever."

With a powerful and agonizing pull on Castiel's wrists he was drawn back up into his eternity of pain.


End file.
